and glanced at Hartley with a smile.

"How silent you are," she said gently.

Hartley flushed and looked self-conscious.

"To be quite candid, that was what I was thinking of you," he replied
awkwardly.

"What were we saying?" went on Mrs. Wilder. "Oh, of course, I remember.
You thought I could tell you something about poor Mr. Heath, didn't you?
I only wish I could, but it was so long ago. I do remember the evening.
It was very hot and I rode along by the river to get some fresh air,"
her eyes grew hazy. "I can remember thinking that Mangadone looked as if
it was a great ball of amber, with the sun shining through it, but as
for being able to tell you what Mr. Heath was doing, or who he was with,
it is impossible. You should have pinned me down to it the day you
called on me, when this troublesome little boy first went off." She
gathered up the reins, and Hartley mounted reluctantly. "I am so sorry.
I would love to be able to help you, but I cannot remember."

If Hartley had been asked on oath how it was that Mrs. Wilder had led
him clean away from the subject under discussion, to something
infinitely more satisfying and interesting, he could not have sworn to
it. They loitered by the road and came slowly back to the bungalow,
where they parted at the gate, and he watched her go in, hoping she
might turn her head, but she did not, and Hartley took his way towards
his own house and thought very little of Absalom or the Rev. Francis
Heath. One thing he did think of, and that was that Mrs. Wilder had
looked at him earnestly, and said that she wished he was not "mixed up"