At her last parting it had been agreed between them that they parted for good, or at least until Robert Grimshaw would give in to her stipulation. He had said that this would not be until he had grown very, very tired; and Katya felt it, like Mr. Held, in her bones that Robert Grimshaw had not come now to submit to her. They approached, however, in weather that was very bright, over the short turf beneath dazzling seagulls overhead against the blue sky. And, Katya having stood aside cool and decided in her grey dress, Ellida, dressed as she always was in a loose black, flung herself upon the child. But, having showered as many kisses and endearments as for the moment she needed, she took the donkey by the bridle as a sign that she herself took charge of that particular portion of the enterprise. “You’ve got,” she said to her sister, “to go a walk with Toto. I’ll take this thing home.” Katya gave Robert a keen scrutiny whilst she said to Ellida: “You’ll never get it home. It will pull the arms out of your body.” “Well, I’ll admit,” Ellida said, a little disconsolately, “that I never expected to turn into a donkey-boy, but”--and she suddenly grew more brisk--“it’s got to be done. You remember that you’re only my nursemaid.” “That doesn’t,” Katya said amiably, “give you the right to dispose of me when it comes to followers.” “Oh, get along, you cantankerous cat.” Ellida laughed at her. “The gentleman isn’t here as a follower. He’s heard I’ve given you notice, and he’s taken up your character. He thinks you’ll do. He wants to employ you.” Katya uttered “Oh,” with minute displeasure, and a little colour came into her clear cheeks. She turned her profile towards them, and against the blue sky it was like an extraordinary cameo, so clear, so pale, the dark eyelashes so exact, the jet-black hair receiving only in its coils the reflection of the large, white, linen hat that Katya wore because she was careful of her complexion and her eyes and her whole face had that air of distant and inscrutable determination that goes with the aspect of a divinity like Diana. “In fact, it’s only a matter of terms,” Robert Grimshaw said, looking away down the long slopes of the downs inland. “Everything is always a matter of terms,” Katya said. The white donkey was placidly browsing the short grass and the daisy heads. “Oh, come up,” Ellida said, and eventually the white beast responded to her exertions. It wasn’t, however, until the donkey was well out of earshot that Grimshaw broke the silence that Katya seemed determined to maintain. He pointed with his stick to where--a dark patch of trees dominated by a squarish, dark tower, in the very bottom of a fold in the downs--a hamlet occupied the extreme distance. “I want to walk to there,” he said. “I’m not at all certain that I want to walk at all,” she answered, and he retorted: