Uncle Benn had served to warm the air about her into a wider circle. Yet
it was neither to soldier, nor squire, nor civil engineer, nor surgeon
that the new sense stirring in her was due. The spring was too far
beneath to be found by them.

When, at last, she raised her head, Lord Eglington was in the path,
looking at her with a half-smile. She did not start, but her face turned
white, and a mist came before her eyes.

Quickly, however, as though fearful lest he should think he could trouble
her composure, she laid a hand upon herself.

He came near to her and held out his hand. "It has been a long six
months since we met here," he said.

She made no motion to take his hand. "I find days grow shorter as I grow
older," she rejoined steadily, and smoothed her hair with her hand,
making ready to put on her bonnet.

"Ah, do not put it on," he urged quickly, with a gesture. "It becomes
you so--on your arm."

She had regained her self-possession. Pride, the best weapon of a woman,
the best tonic, came to her resource. "Thee loves to please thee at any
cost," she replied. She fastened the grey strings beneath her chin.

"Would it be costly to keep the bonnet on your arm?"

"It is my pleasure to have it on my head, and my pleasure has some value
to myself."