Vellacott was fully aware that there was something to be got over, and
so instead of skipping round it, as a woman might have done, he went
blundering on to the top of it.

"Hilda," he said suddenly, "I have never congratulated you."

She bent her head in a grave little bow which was not quite English; but
she said nothing.

"I can only wish you all happiness," he continued rather vaguely.

Again she made that mystic little motion of the head, but did not look
towards him, and never offered the assistance of smile or word.

"A long life, a happy one, and your own will," he added more lightly,
looking down into the green water of the moat.

"Thank you," she said, standing quite still beside him.

And then there followed an awkward pause. It was Vellacott who finally
broke the silence in the only way left to him.

"I like Farrar," he said. "I am sure he will make you happy. He--is a
lucky fellow."

At the end of the walk that ran the whole length of that part of the
moat which had been allowed to remain intact, she made a little movement
as if to turn aside beneath the hazel trees and towards the house. But
he would not let her go. He turned deliberately upon his heel and waited
for her. There was nothing else to do but acquiesce. They retraced their