Gilbert Fenton stood quite still watching her. She looked even prettier
without her bonnet than she had looked in the church, he thought: the
rich dark-brown hair gathered in a great knot at the back of the graceful
head; the perfect throat circled by a broad black ribbon, from which
there hung an old-fashioned gold cross; the youthful figure set-off by
the girlish muslin dress, so becoming in its utter simplicity.

He could not stand there for ever looking at her, pleasant as it might be
to him to contemplate the lovely face; so he made a little movement at
last, and came a few steps nearer to the gate.

"Good-evening once more, Miss Nowell," he said.

She looked up at him, surprised by his sudden appearance, but in no
manner embarrassed.

"Good-evening, Mr. Fenton. I did not see you till this moment. I was
looking for my uncle. He has gone out for a little stroll while he smokes
his cigar, and I expect him home every minute."

"I have been indulging in a solitary cigar myself," answered Gilbert.
"One is apt to be inspired with an antipathy to the house on this kind of
evening. I left the Listers yawning over their tea-cups, and came out for
a ramble. The aspect of the lane at which we parted company this evening
tempted me down this way. What a pretty house you have! Do you know I
guessed that it was yours before I saw you."

"Indeed! You must have quite a talent for guessing."