heard footsteps upon the gravel of the roadway. She
started, turned deliberately, holding in check the agitation which
possessed her, to find herself confronted by the tall, preeminently
modern and mundane, figure of Ludovic Quayle. Honoria gave herself a
little shake of uncontrollable impatience. For less than
twopence-halfpenny she could have given the very gentlemanlike intruder
a shake too! He let her down with a bump, so to speak, from regions
mysterious and supernal, to regions altogether social and of this world
worldly. And yet she knew that such feelings were not a little hard and
unjust as entertained towards poor Mr. Quayle.

The young man, in any case, was happily ignorant of having offended. He
sauntered out on to the bridge, hat in hand, his head a trifle on one
side, his long neck directed slightly forward, his expression that of
polite and intimate amusement--but whether amusement at his own, or his
fellow-creatures' expense, it would have been difficult to declare.

"At last, I find you, my dear Miss St. Quentin," he said. "And I have
sought for you as for lost treasure. Forgive a biblical form of
address--a reminiscence merely of my father's morning ministrations to
my unmarried sisters, the footmen, and the maids. He reads them the
most surprising little histories at times, which make me positively
blush--but that's a detail. To account for my invasion of your idyllic
solitude--I learned incidentally you proposed coming here from Ormiston
this week. I thought I would venture on an early attempt to find you.
But I drew the house blank, though assisted by Winter--the terrace also
blank. Then from the troco-ground I beheld that which looked promising,
coquetting with Dickie's yearlings. So I followed on to know--my father
and the maids again--followed on to--to my reward."

Mr. Quayle stood directly in front of her. He spoke with admirable
urbanity, yet with even greater rapidity than usual. His beautifully
formed mouth pursed itself up between the sentences, with that effect
of indulgent superiority which was at once so attractive and so
excessively provoking. But, for all that, Honoria perceived that, for
once in his life, the young man was distinctly, not to say acutely,
nervous.

"The reward will be limited I'm afraid," she replied, "for my temper is
unaccountably out of sorts this afternoon."

"And, if one may make bold to inquire, why out of sorts, dear Miss St.
Quentin?"

He sat down on the