Even at a distance he could not but admire the grace and ease and dignity of her carriage—­the harmonious movement of a perfectly formed figure; and as she drew nearer he kept asking himself (as if the question were necessary) whether he would be able to take away a keen mental photograph of those fine features—­the clear and placid forehead, the strongly marked eyebrows, the calm, self-reliant eyes, the proud and yet not unsympathetic lines of the mouth.  She came nearer; a smile lit up her face; and there was a kind of radiance there, he thought.  He had leaped down from the wagonette:  he went forward to meet her; her hand was outstretched.

“I am sorry you are going,” she said, frankly.

“And I am far more sorry to have to go,” said he, and he held her hand a little longer than there was any occasion for, until she gently withdrew it.  “There are so many things I should like to say to you, Miss Honnor; but somehow they always escape you just when they’re wanted; and I’ve told you so often before that I am not likely to forget your kindness to me up here—­”

“Surely it is the other way about!” she said, pleasantly.  “You have come and cheered up my lonely hours—­and been so patient—­never grumbled—­never looked away up the hill as if you would have given your life to be after the grouse; and in the drawing-room of an evening you’ve always sung when I asked you—­when I was inconsiderate enough to ask you—­”

“My goodness!  Miss Honnor,” he said, “if I had known you looked on it in that light, I should have sung for you constantly, whether you asked or not.”

“Well, it’s all over now,” said she, “and I hope you are taking away with you a pleasant memory of Strathaivron.”

“I have spent the happiest days of my life here,” he said; and then he hesitated—­was about to speak—­hesitated again—­and finally blurted out, “Is there anything I can do for you in London, Miss Honnor?”

“No, thanks,” she said.  “By the way, you’ll have an hour or two in Inverness.  You might go in to Mr. Watson’s and ask him to send me out a few more flies—­if you have plenty of time, that is.”

“I shall be delighted,” said he, as if she had conferred the greatest favor on him.

“Well, good-bye—­I mustn’t keep you late for the train.”

“But we shall meet in the South?”

“I hope so,” she said, in a very amiable and friendly fashion; and she stood waiting there until he had got into the wagonette, and until the horses had splashed their way across the ford; then she waved her hand to him, and, with a parting smile, turned down the stream again, to rejoin Robert and pick up her rod.