indicate energy. It was a peculiarity that he very rarely smiled, or
perhaps I should say that he had the faculty of smiling only with
his eyes. At such moments his look was very winning, very frank in
its appeal to sympathy, and compelled one to like him. Yet, at
another time, his aspect could be shrewdly critical; it was so when
Annabel fell short of enthusiasm in speaking of the book he had
recommended to her when last at Ullswater. Probably he was not
without his share of scepticism. For all that, it was the visage of
an idealist.

Annabel led him into the house and to the study door, at which she
knocked; then she stood aside for him to enter before her. Mr.
Newthorpe was writing; he looked up absently, but light gathered in
his eyes as he recognised the visitor.

'So here you are! We talked of you this morning. How have you come?'

'On foot from Pooley Bridge.'

They clasped hands, then Egremont looked behind him; but Annabel had
closed the door and was gone.

She went up to the room in which Paula sat scribbling letters.

'Ten minutes more!' exclaimed that young lady. 'I'm just finishing a
note to mamma--so dutiful!'

'Have you written to Mr. Egremont?'

Paula nodded and laughed.