business, his partner, his future, his Margery.

It was what he did this evening, continuing the meditation on the
young girl's manner that he had begun upon the road, and still, as
then, finding no clue to the change.

While thus engaged he observed a man coming up the ravine to the
kiln. Business messages were almost invariably left at the house
below, and Jim watched the man with the interest excited by a belief
that he had come on a personal matter. On nearer approach Jim
recognized him as the gardener at Mount Lodge some miles away. If
this meant business, the Baron (of whose arrival Jim had vaguely
heard) was a new and unexpected customer.

It meant nothing else, apparently. The man's errand was simply to
inform Jim that the Baron required a load of lime for the garden.

'You might have saved yourself trouble by leaving word at Mr.
Vine's,' said Jim.

'I was to see you personally,' said the gardener, 'and to say that
the Baron would like to inquire of you about the different qualities
of lime proper for such purposes.'

'Couldn't you tell him yourself?' said Jim.

'He said I was to tell you that,' replied the gardener; 'and it
wasn't for me to interfere.'

No motive other than the ostensible one could possibly be conjectured