she looked at him sometimes unawares.

He had kissed her in the porch because he should not be doing so on the
platform, though she was going to the station with him, to drive the car
back. Tanned and wrinkled by Colonial weather and the wiles inseparable
from horses, and handicapped by the leg which, weakened in the Boer War,
had probably saved his life in the War just past, Val was still much
as he had been in the days of his courtship; his smile as wide and
charming, his eyelashes, if anything, thicker and darker, his eyes
screwed up under them, as bright a grey, his freckles rather deeper, his
hair a little grizzled at the sides. He gave the impression of one who
has lived actively with horses in a sunny climate.

Twisting the car sharp round at the gate, he said:

"When is young Jon coming?"

"To-day."

"Is there anything you want for him? I could bring it down on Saturday."

"No; but you might come by the same train as Fleur--one-forty."

Val gave the Ford full rein; he still drove like a man in a new country
on bad roads, who refuses to compromise, and expects heaven at every
hole.

"That's a young woman who knows her way about," he said. "I say, has it
struck you?"