"It's a long time for both of us," said Sylvia. "But it hasn't
altered us in that respect."

"It's been a longer time for him than it has for you," said
Jeffcott shrewdly. "I'll warrant he's lived every minute of it.
He's the sort that would."

Sylvia's wide brows drew together in a little frown. She had
caught the note of warning in the old man's words, and she did not
understand it.

"What do you mean, Jeffcott?" she said, with a touch of sharpness.

But Jeffcott backed out of the vinery and out of the discussion at
the same moment. "You'll know what I mean one day, Miss Sylvia,"
he said darkly, "when you're married."

"Silly old man!" said Sylvia, taking up the cluster of grapes for
which she had come and departing in the opposite direction.
Jeffcott was a faithful old servant, but he could be very
exasperating when he liked.

The gardens were bathed in the evening sunlight as she passed
through them on her way to the house. The old Manor stood out grey
and ancient against an opal sky. She looked up at it with loving
eyes. Her home meant very much to Sylvia Ingleton. Until the last
six months she had always regarded it as her own life-long
possession. For she was an only child, and for the past three
years she had been its actual mistress, though virtually she had