He bowed, quick to read ‘governess’ or ‘companion’ in the lady’s appearance; and she bowed.

‘I hope you have had a nice walk,’ she said.  ’I saw you from my bedroom window.’

’Did you?  Then I suppose yours is one of the few windows which look into that curious old quadrangle?’

’No, there are no windows looking into the quadrangle.  Those that were in the original plan of the house were walled up at her ladyship’s orders, to keep out the cold winds which sweep down from the hills in winter and early spring, when the edge of Loughrigg Fell is white with snow.  My window looks into the gardens, and I saw you there with his lordship and Lady Mary.’

Lady Lesbia came in at this moment, and saluted Mr. Hammond with a haughty inclination of her beautiful head.  She looked lovelier in her simple morning gown of pale blue cambric than in her more elaborate toilette of last evening; such purity of complexion, such lustrous eyes; the untarnished beauty of youth, breathing the delicate freshness of a newly-opened flower.  She might be as scornful as she pleased, yet John Hammond could not withhold his admiration.  He was inclined to admire a woman who kept him at a distance; for the general bent of young women now-a-days is otherwise.

Maulevrier and Mary came in, and everyone sat down to breakfast.  Lady Lesbia unbent a little presently, and smiled upon the stranger.  There was a relief in a stranger’s presence.  He talked of new things, places and people she had never seen.  She brightened and became quite friendly, deigned to invite the expression of Mr. Hammond’s opinions upon music and art, and after breakfast allowed him to follow her into the drawing-room, and to linger there fascinated for half an hour, looking over her newest books, and her last batch of music, but looking most of all at her, while Maulevrier and Mary were loafing on the lawn outside.

‘What are you going to do with yourself this morning?’ asked Maulevrier, appearing suddenly at the window.

‘Anything you like,’ answered Hammond.  ’Stay, there is one pilgrimage I am eager to make.  I must see Wordsworth’s grave, and Wordsworth’s house.’

’You shall see them both, but they are in opposite directions—­one at your elbow, the other a four mile walk.  Which will you see first?  We’ll toss for it,’ taking a shilling from a pocketful of loose cash, always ready for moments of hesitation.  ’Heads, house; tails, grave.  Tails it is.  Come and have a smoke, and see the poet’s grave.  The splendour of the monument, the exquisite neatness with which it is kept, will astound you, considering that we live in a period of Wordsworth worship.’

Hammond hesitated, and looked at Lady Lesbia.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ called Maulevrier from the lawn.  ’It was a fair offer.  I’ve got my cigarette case.’

‘Yes, I’m coming,’ answered the other, with a disappointed air.

He had hoped that Lesbia would offer to show him the poet’s grave.  He could not abandon that hope without a struggle.