After lunch she went faster to the tower than she had gone in the
early morning, and peeped eagerly into the chink under the door.
She could discern no letter, and, on trying the latch, found that
the door would open. The letter was gone, Swithin having obviously
arrived in the interval.

She blushed a blush which seemed to say, 'I am getting foolishly
interested in this young man.' She had, in short, in her own
opinion, somewhat overstepped the bounds of dignity. Her instincts
did not square well with the formalities of her existence, and she
walked home despondently.

Had a concert, bazaar, lecture, or Dorcas meeting required the
patronage and support of Lady Constantine at this juncture, the
circumstance would probably have been sufficient to divert her mind
from Swithin St. Cleeve and astronomy for some little time. But as
none of these incidents were within the range of expectation--
Welland House and parish lying far from large towns and watering-
places--the void in her outer life continued, and with it the void
in her life within.

The youth had not answered her letter; neither had he called upon
her in response to the invitation she had regretted, with the rest
of the epistle, as being somewhat too warmly informal for black and
white. To speak tenderly to him was one thing, to write another--
that was her feeling immediately after the event; but his counter-
move of silence and avoidance, though probably the result of pure
unconsciousness on his part, completely dispersed such self-
considerations now. Her eyes never fell upon the Rings-Hill column