and looked through it. He was in time to see Rufus's great, lounging
figure sauntering away in the direction of the wood-yard.

Knight stood a moment or two and watched him, then quietly turned and
rejoined the girl.

She was still leaning upon the chair, but she was gradually recovering
her self-control. As he drew near she made a slight movement as if to
resume her interrupted flight. But some other impulse intervened, and
she remained where she was.

Knight came up and stood beside her. "What has he been doing to annoy
you?" he asked.

She made a small, vehement gesture of disgust. "Oh, we won't talk of
him. He is an oaf. I dare say he doesn't know any better, but he'll
never have a chance of doing it again. I don't mix with the riff-raff."

"He's Adam's son, isn't he?" questioned Knight.

She nodded. "Yes, the great, hulking lubber! Adam's all right. I like
Adam. But Rufus--well, Rufus is a bounder, and I'll never have anything
more to say to him."

"I think you are quite right to hold your head up above these fisher
fellows," remarked Knight, his grey eyes watching her with an appraising
expression. "They are as much out of place near you as a bed of bindweed
would be in the neighbourhood of a passion-flower." His glance took in
her still panting bosom. "I think you are something of a
passion-flower," he said, faintly smiling. "I wonder at any man daring