some day."

It was, perhaps, a trifle startling, but the girl now showed neither
astonishment nor resentment. She felt curiously certain that this
stranger was not posing or speaking for effect. It did not occur to
him that he might have gone too far, and for a space he leaned against
the gate, saying nothing, while she looked at him with what he thought
of as her gracious English calm.

Pale sunshine fell upon them, though the larches beside the road were
rustling beneath a little cold wind, and the song of the river came up
brokenly out of the valley. An odour of fresh grass floated about
them, and the dry, cold smell of the English spring was in the air.
Across the valley dim ghosts of hills lighted by evanescent gleams rose
out of the east wind greyness with shadowy grandeur.

Then Wyllard seemed to rouse himself. "I wonder if I ought to write
Major Radcliffe and tell him what my object is before I call?" he said.
"It would make the thing a little easier."

The girl rose. "Yes," she assented, "that would, perhaps, be wiser."
Then she glanced at the photograph which was still in her hand. "It
has served its purpose. I scarcely think it would be of any great
interest to Major Radcliffe."

She saw his face change as she made it evident that she did not mean to
give the portrait back to him; but there was, at least, one excellent
reason why she would not have her picture in a strange man's hands.

"Thank you," she said, "for the story. I am glad we have met; but I'm
afraid I have already kept my friends waiting for me."

Then she turned away, and it occurred to Wyllard that he had made a
very indifferent use of the opportunity, since she had neither asked
his name nor told him hers. It was, however, evident that he could not
well run after her and demand it, and he decided that he could in all
probability obtain it from Major Radcliffe when he called upon him.
Still, he regretted his lack of adroitness as he walked back to the
inn, where he wrote two letters when he had consulted a map and his
landlady. Dufton Holme, he discovered, was a small village within a
mile or two of the Grange where, as Miss Rawlinson had informed him,
Agatha Ismay was then staying. One letter was addressed to her, and he
formally asked permission to call upon her with a message from Gregory
Hawtrey. The other was to Major Radcliffe, and in both he said that an
answer would reach him at the inn which his landlady had informed