piece of
no-man's land, was for sale. Up a path she could see the back of a large
board.

It was clear that this pretty bit of woodland would have been turned into
villa plots long ago had it been nearer to a road. But it was still a
stretch of primeval forest. Here and there, amid the tufts of grass, lay
the husks of last autumn's chestnuts.

Sylvia slowly followed the little zigzag way which cut across the wood,
and then, desiring to sit down for awhile, she struck off to the right,
towards a spot where she saw that the brambles and the undergrowth had
been cleared away.

Even here, where in summer the sun never penetrated, the tufts of coarse
grass were dried up by the heat. She glanced down; no, there was no fear
that the hard, dry ground would stain her pretty cotton frock.

And then, as she sat there, Sylvia gradually became aware that close to
her, where the undergrowth began again, the earth had recently been
disturbed. Over an irregular patch of about a yard square the sods had
been dug up, and then planted again.

The thought passed through her mind that children must have been playing
there, and that they had made a rude attempt to destroy their handiwork,
or rather to prevent its being noticed, by placing the branch of a tree
across the little plot of ground where the earth had been disturbed. It
was this broken branch, of which the leaves had shrivelled up, that had
first drawn her attention to the fact that someone must have been there,
and recently.

Her thoughts wandered off to Bill Chester. He was now actually journeying
towards her as fast as boat and train could bring him; in a couple of
hours he would be in Paris, and then, perhaps, he would come out to
Lacville in time for dinner.

Sylvia had not been able to get a room for him in the Villa du Lac, but
she had engaged one in the Pension Malfait--where she had been able to
secure the apartment which had been occupied by Anna Wolsky, whose things
had only just been moved out of it.

She could not help being sorry that Bill would see Lacville for the first
time on a Sunday. She feared that, to his English eyes, the place,
especially on that day, would present a peculiarly--well, disreputable
appearance!

Sylvia felt jealous for the good fame of Lacville. Out in the open air
her spirits had recovered their balance; she told herself that she had
been very happy here--singularly, extraordinarily happy....

Of course it was a pity when people