miles distant, a long, straight walk by the river, and then a mile or so
across fields and by narrow lanes to an arid spot, where some newly-built
houses were arising round a hopeless-looking little loop-line station in
a desert of agricultural land.

She had walked about three-quarters of a mile, when she heard the rapid
dip of oars, as if in pursuit of her, and a familiar voice calling to
her.

It was Brian, who almost lived in his boat, and who had caught sight of
her in the distance, and followed at racing speed.

'What are you doing?' he asked, coming up close to the bank, and standing
up in his boat. 'Where are you going at such a pace? I don't think I ever
saw a woman walk so fast.'

'Was I walking fast?' she asked, unconscious of the impetus which
excitement had given to her movements.

She knew in her heart of hearts that she did not love him--that love--the
passion which she had read of in prose and poetry was still a stranger to
her soul: but just at this Moment, galled and stung by Miss Pew's
unkindness, heart-sick at her own absolute desolation, the sound of his
voice was sweet in her ears, the look of the tall slim figure, the
friendly face turned towards her, was pleasant to her eyes. No, he was
not a reed, he was a rock. She felt protected and comforted by his
presence.

'Were you walking fast! Galloping like a three-year-old--_quoe velut
latis equa trima campis_,' quoted Brian. 'Are you running away from