"Gone into Norwich to dine at the barracks with some stupid men. Not that
I mind his going," she added, hastily. "I wish he'd stay away for a
month. Of course he's a very good sort, and all that, but he's deadly
monotonous. Uncle, really, as a matter of curiosity, before I get to be
an old woman I should like to see one other young man."

"Plenty on the links just now!"

"I know it. I sat out near the ninth hole all this morning. There are
some Cambridge boys who looked quite nice. One of them was really
delightful when I showed him where his ball was, but I can't consider
that an introduction, can I? Heavens, who's this?"

Behind the trim maid-servant already crossing the lawn, and within a few
yards of them, came a strange, almost tragical, figure. Her plain black
clothes and hat were powdered with dust, there were deep lines under her
eyes, she swayed a little when she walked, as though with fatigue. She
seemed to bring with her into the cool, quiet garden, with its country
odours and general air of peace, an alien note. One almost heard the deep
undercry from a far-away world of suffering--the great, ever-moving
wheels seemed to have caught her up and thrown her down in this most
incongruous of places. Clara, in her cool white dress, her fresh
complexion, her general air of health and girlish vigour, seemed, as she
rose to her feet, a creature of another sex, almost of another world. The
two girls exchanged for a moment wondering glances. Then Mannering
intervened.

"Hester!" he exclaimed. "Why--is there anything wrong?"