Then for an hour she sat thinking, and as she thought her face gradually emerged from gloom—­the better, truer face which so often allowed itself to be disguised at the prompting of an evil spirit; her softening lips all but smiled, as if at an amusing suggestion, and her eyes, in their reverie, seemed to behold a pleasant promise.  Unconsciously she plucked and tasted the sweet stems of grass that grew about her.  At length, the sun’s movements having robbed her of shadow, she rose, looked at her watch, and glanced around for another retreat.  Hard by was a little wood, delightfully grassy and cool, fenced about with railings she could easily have climbed; but a notice-board, severely admonishing trespassers, forbade the attempt.  With a petulant remark to herself on the selfishness of “those people,” she sauntered past.

Along this edge of the Downs stands a picturesque row of pine-trees, stunted, bittered, and twisted through many a winter by the upland gales.  Louise noticed them, only to think for a moment what ugly trees they were.  Before her, east, west, and north, lay the wooded landscape, soft of hue beneath the summer sky, spreading its tranquil beauty far away to the mists of the horizon.  In vivacious company she would have called it, and perhaps have thought it, a charming view; alone, she had no eye for such things—­an indifference characteristic of her mind, and not at all dependent upon its mood.  Presently another patch of shade invited her to repose again, and again she meditated for an hour or more.

The sun had grown less ardent, and a breeze, no longer fitful, made walking pleasant.  The sight of holiday-making school-children, who, in their ribboned hats and white pinafores, were having tea not far away, suggested to Louise that she also would like such refreshment.  Doubtless it might be procured at the inn yonder, near the racecourse, and thither she began to move.  Her thoughts were more at rest; she had made her plan for the evening; all that had to be done was to kill time for another hour or so.  Walking lightly over the turf, she noticed the chalk marks significant of golf, and wondered how the game was played.  Without difficulty she obtained her cup of tea, loitered over it as long as possible, strayed yet awhile about the Downs, and towards half-past six made for the railway station.

She travelled no further than Sutton, and there lingered in the waiting room till the arrival of a certain train from London Bridge.  As the train came in she took up a position near the exit.  Among the people who had alighted, her eye soon perceived Clarence Mumford.  She stepped up to him and drew his attention.

‘Oh! have you come by the same train?’ he asked, shaking hands with her.

’No.  I’ve been waiting here because I wanted to see you, Mr. Mumford.  Will you spare me a minute or two?’

‘Here?  In the station?’

‘Please—­if you don’t mind.’