A smile answered his candour.

"It would be all the same. And why should it matter to you? You have a

great many friends, no doubt--and we should not be likely to meet."

"Oh, yes, we should!" he said, with the dogged kind of insistence which

also sometimes surprised his friends. "I was going to avail myself of

your permission, and fish the stream--but, of course, I can't do that

now."

"No--I suppose not," she assented. "But we should be sure to meet on

the road--I should be riding--walking."

"But not on this side often," she argued.

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A faint, very faint colour had stolen into the clear pallor of her

cheek, her eyes were downcast. She was honestly surprised, and, yes, a

little pleased that he should protest against the close of their

acquaintance; pleased, though why, she could not have told; for it did

not seem to matter.

"Oh, yes, I should," he retorted. "It's very pretty this side, and--See

here, Miss Heron." He drew a little nearer and looked up at her with

something like a frown in his eagerness. "Of course I shall speak to my

father about--well, about the way the land was bought, and I'm hoping,

I'm sure, that he will be able to explain it satisfactorily; and I want

to tell you that it is a mistake. I don't know much of my father, but I

can't believe that he would do anything underhand." He stopped suddenly

as the bagman's remarks flashed across his memory. "If your father's

grievance against him is just, why--ah, well, you'll have to cut me

when we meet; but I don't think it is; and I don't think it would be

fair to treat me as if _I_'d done something wrong."

Her brows came together, and she looked at him as if she were puzzled.

"I don't know why it matters," she said.

"Well, I can't tell you," he said, helplessly. "I only know that I

don't want to part from you this morning, knowing that the next time we

meet we should meet as strangers. I wanted to come to the Hall, to

enquire after Mr. Heron."

Her face flushed.

"Do not," she said in a low voice.

"I won't, of course," he responded, quickly. "It would only make

matters worse; your father would naturally dislike me, refuse to see

me; but--well, it's very hard on me."

She looked at him again, gravely, thoughtfully, as if she were still

puzzled by his persistence. Her eyes wandered to the dogs. Bess was

still standing up against him, and Donald had thrown himself down

beside him, and was regarding Ida with an air that said, quite plainly,

"This new friend of yours is all right."




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