‘But won’t your mother be alarmed?’ asked Mrs. Rossall.

’Why should she?  She knows I am very capable of taking care of myself.  I wouldn’t have missed this walk for anything.  I only lost my way once, and then, luckily, a farmer came driving along:  he told me I had half a mile more.  I trebled his distance, which made it about right.’

‘It’s a good four miles from the station,’ remarked Mr. Athel.

’Is it?  If I hadn’t been so hungry I shouldn’t have minded as much again.  You’re not angry with me, Mrs. Rossall, for coming before I was expected?’

A curious note of irresponsible childishness came out now and then in her talk, as in this last question; it was the more noticeable for the air of maturity and self-possession which on the whole characterised her.  She continued to talk with much vivacity, making at the same time a hearty meal.  Her place at the table was between Wilfrid and Patty; on the opposite side sat Miss Hood and Minnie.  As often as her eyes fell upon the governess’s face, they rested there for a moment, searchingly, as if with endeavour to recall some memory.

‘Who is responsible for your vegetarianism?’ Wilfrid asked.  ’Is Mr. Cresset preaching the doctrine?’

‘No, Mr. Cresset is not preaching the doctrine,’ was the reply, in a tone which evidently contained reference to previous dissensions.

‘Surely there is nothing offensive in the suggestion?’ remarked the young man mildly.

’Yes, there is something offensive.  Your references to Mr. Cresset are always offensive.’

’You do me injustice.  Aunt, I take you to witness, didn’t I praise ungrudgingly a sermon of his we heard last Christmas?’

‘I remember quite well,’ said Beatrice; ’you regarded it as extraordinary that anything good could come from that source, Mr. Athel, I take you to witness, wasn’t that his tone?’

‘Patty,’ interposed Mrs. Rossall, ’do change your place and sit between those two; they never can be next each other without quarrelling.’

Breakfast drew out to unusual length.  Miss Redwing was full of the season’s news, and Mrs. Rossall’s reviving interest in such vanities scarcely affected concealment.  Mr. Athel, too, though he supported a jesting tone, clearly enjoyed listening to the girl’s vivacious comments on the world which amuses itself.  Wilfrid talked less than usual.

He and his father strolled together into the garden an hour later, and found Beatrice reclining in a hammock which had recently been suspended in a convenient spot.  She had one hand beneath her head, the other held a large fan, with which she warded off stray flakes of sunlight falling between the leaves.

‘Isn’t this exquisite?’ she cried.  ’Let no one hint to me of stirring before lunch-time.  I am going to enjoy absolute laziness.’

‘I thought you would have preferred a gallop over the downs,’ said Mr. Athel.