The sound of wheels on the gravel outside aroused her from a silence
which had become a brown study; and, to Siward, presently, she said:
"Here endeth our first rendezvous."

"Then let us arrange another immediately," he said, stirring the ice in
his glass.

The girl considered him with speculative eyes: "I shouldn't exactly know
what to do with you for the next hour if I didn't abandon you."

"Why bother to do anything with me? Why even give yourself the trouble
of deserting me? That solves the problem."

"I really don't mean that you are a problem to me, Mr. Siward," she
said, amused; "I mean that I am going to drive again."

"I see."

"No you don't see at all. There's a telegram; I'm not driving for
pleasure--"

She had not meant that either, and it annoyed her that she had expressed
herself in such terms. As a matter of fact, at the telegraphed request
of Mr. Quarrier, she was going to Black Fells Crossing to meet his train
from the Lakes and drive him back to Shotover. The drive, therefore, was
of course a drive for pleasure.

"I see," repeated Siward amiably.

"Perhaps you do," she observed, rising to her graceful height. He was
on his feet at once, so carelessly, so good-humouredly acquiescent that
without any reason at all she hesitated.

"I had meant to show you about--the cliffs--the kennels and stables; I'm
sorry," she concluded, lingering.

"I'm awfully sorry," he rejoined without meaning anything in particular.
That was the trouble, whatever he said, apparently meant so much.

With the agreeable sensation of being regretted, she leisurely gloved
herself, then walked through the gun-room and hall, Siward strolling
beside her.

The dog followed them as they turned toward the door and passed out
across the terraced veranda to the driveway where a Tandem cart was
drawn up, faultlessly appointed. Quarrier's mania was Tandem. She
thought it rather nice of her to remember this.

She inspected the ensemble without visible interest for a few moments;
the wind freshened from the sea, fluttering her veil, and she turned
toward the east to face it. In the golden splendour of declining day the
white sails of yachts crowded landward on the last leg before beating
westward into Blue Harbour; a small white cruiser, steaming south,
left a mile long stratum of rose-tinted smoke hanging parallel to the
horizon's plane; the westering sun struck sparks from her bright-work.

The magic light on land and water