'We hear you progress in civilisation.'

'Well, I hope so. I've had a month of steady reading, and feel
better for it. I took a big chest of books to Jersey. But I hope
Miss Tyrrell is better?'

'Quite herself again. Shall we walk up to the house?'

'I have broken in upon your reading.'

She exhibited the volume; it was Buskin's 'Sesame and Lilies.'

'Ah! you got it; and like it?'

'On the whole.'

'That is disappointing.'

Annabel was silent, then spoke of another matter as they walked up
from the lake.

This Mr. Egremont had not the look of a man who finds his joy in the
life of Society. His clean-shaven face was rather bony, and its
lines expressed independence of character. His forehead was broad,
his eyes glanced quickly and searchingly, or widened themselves into
an absent gazing which revealed the imaginative temperament. His
habitual cast of countenance was meditative, with a tendency to
sadness. In talk he readily became vivacious; his short sentences,
delivered with a very clear and conciliating enunciation, seemed to