Borrowdean gravely considered the matter, which was in itself a somewhat humorous thing. Slim and erect, with a long, graceful neck, and a carriage of the head which somehow suggested the environment of a court, Mrs. Handsell was distinctly, even from a distance, a pleasant person to look upon. He nodded approvingly. "Yes, she is good-looking," he admitted. "Is she a neighbour of yours?" "She has taken a house within a hundred yards of ours," Clara Mannering answered. "We all think that she is delightful." "Is she a widow?" Borrowdean asked. "I imagine so," she answered. "I have never heard her speak of her husband. She has beautiful dresses and things. I should think she must be very rich. Stand quite still, please. I must take great pains over this stroke." A wild shot from Clara's partner a few minutes later resulted in a scattering of the little party, searching for the ball. For the first time Borrowdean found himself near Mrs. Handsell. "I must have a few words with you before I go back," he said, nonchalantly. "Say that you would like to try my motor car," she answered. "What do you want here?" "I came to see Mannering." "Poor Mannering!" "It would be," he remarked, smoothly, "a mistake to quarrel." They separated, and immediately afterwards the ball was found. A little later on the round was finished. Clara attributed her success to the excellence of her caddie. Mrs. Handsell deplored a headache, which had put her off her putting. Lindsay, who was in a bad temper, declined an invitation to lunch, and rode off on his bicycle. The rest of the little party gathered round the motor car, and Borrowdean asked preposterous questions about the gears and the speeds. "If you are really interested," Mrs. Handsell said, languidly, "I will take you home. I have only room for one, unfortunately, with all these clubs and things." "I should be delighted," Borrowdean answered, "but perhaps Miss Mannering--" "Clara will look after me," Mannering interrupted, smiling. "Try to make an enthusiast of him, Mrs. Handsell. He needs a hobby badly." They started off. She leaned back in her seat and pulled her veil down. "Do not talk to me here," she said. "We shall have a quarter of an hour before they can arrive." Borrowdean assented silently. He was glad of the respite, for he wanted to think. A few minutes' swift rush through the air, and the car pulled up before a queer, old-fashioned dwelling house in the middle of the village. A smart maid-servant came hurrying out to assist her mistress. Borrowdean was ushered into a long, low drawing-room, with open windows leading out on to a trim lawn. Beyond was a walled garden bordering the churchyard.