"He never spends the summer here," she answered. "We are generally
together after July, so perhaps," she added, "you may have to endure
more of my company than you think."

She looked at me with a faint, provoking smile. How dare she? I was
master of myself now, and I answered her coldly.

"I shall be very sorry to leave here," I said. "I hope if my work lasts
so long that I shall be able to go on with it at the 'Brand.'"

She made no answer to that, but in a moment or two she turned and looked
at me thoughtfully.

"You are rather a surprising person," she remarked, "in many ways. And
you certainly have strange tastes."

"Is it a strange taste to love this place?" I asked.

"Of course not. But, on time other hand, it is strange that you should
be content to remain here indefinitely. Solitude is all very well at
times, but at your age I think that the vigorous life of a great city
should have many attractions for you. Life here, after all, must become
something of an abstraction."

"It contents me," I declared shortly.

"Then I am not sure that you are in an altogether healthy frame of
mind," she answered, coolly. "Have you no ambitions?"

"Such as I have," I muttered, "are hopeless. They were built on
sand--and they have fallen."

"Then reconstruct them," she said. "You are far too young to speak with
such a note of finality."

"Some day," I answered, "I suppose I shall. At present I am content to
live on, amongst the fragments. One needs only imagination. The things
one dreams about are always more beautiful and perhaps more satisfying
than the things one does."

Again our eyes met, and I fancied that this time she was looking a
little frightened. At any rate she knew. I was sure of that.

"What an ineffective sort of proceeding!" she murmured.

A creek separated us for a few minutes. When we came together again I
asked her a question.

"There is something, Lady Angela," I said, "which, if you would forgive
the impertinence of it, I should very much like to ask you."

She moved her head slowly, as though giving a tacit consent. But I do
not think that she was quite prepared for what I asked her.

"When are you going to marry Colonel Ray?"

She looked at me quickly, almost furtively, and I saw that her cheeks
were flushed. There was a look in her eyes, too, which I could not
fathom.

"The date is not decided yet," she said. "You know there is some talk
of trouble in Egypt, and if so he might ha