“No; there she is!” cried Sir Harry. “I see her dress.” There she was indeed, still leaning on the gate, so absorbed in her own thoughts that the two gentlemen were within a few yards of her, when she realised their presence with a violent start. “Good evening,” said Sir Harry, taking off his cap. He had an affable manner of talking to refreshment-room young ladies. “You seem buried in meditation. I’m afraid we disturbed you.” “Oh, no, not at all,” she answered briskly. Here were some people to talk and chaff with--her very last visitors. “I expect you were thinking of _him_,” he suggested, with a significant glance. She coloured to her hair, and looked haughty. “Come, come. A pretty girl like you is bound to have a score of lovers.” “That’s true!” she assented, with a touch of her old sauciness, suddenly resolved to act the part of Mary once more--“but _she_ need never trouble her head to think of them.” “What were you thinking of, then? I say, if you’ll tell me the honest truth I’ll give you a sovereign, or rather, this other gentleman will, for your thoughts.” “My thoughts are not for sale. They are my own.” “Very sweet and beautiful they must be.” “Sometimes.” “How proud _I_ should be if I might have a place in them!” She smiled derisively. Really, for a country girl she had a wonderfully short upper lip. “Are you often at this gate?” “I used to be.” “For any particular reason?” “Only to see my friends, and pass them the time of day!” “To see your friends? Yes; but I am sure they found it difficult to _pass_. The road must have been blocked from end to end!” “Well, there’s not many about now, as you may notice.” “Is that thing a cat you have beside you?” “Yes; it’s the newly-invented Chinese breed.” “Where did you rise it?” “It came to the house as a stray kitten. A stray cat coming in like that brings luck.” “Well, it’s more like a dilapidated old weasel.” “Don’t abuse it, sir, if you please, for it has something in common with your friend, the other gentleman.” “What do you mean?” “Why, the poor creature is dumb!” “Ah, ha! There’s a compliment and a challenge for you, Dudley,” he exclaimed, with a boisterous laugh. “You must pick up the gauntlet.” “May I ask why you suppose I am dumb?” inquired Captain Deverell, in his slow voice, looking her over with supercilious eyes. “Sure I had no reason to suppose otherwise till now.” “My friend here invariably talks for both. He enjoys it.” “Yes, and saves your lazy self, a lot of trouble,” amended Sir Henry. “Conversation is a fag. Do you live here?” he added, looking straight at Mary. “I’ve spent my whole life in that cottage.” “But it looks as if it were unoccupied.” “It is so.” “Are you, then, a disembodied spirit or a witch? If so, the cat is the wrong colour.” “I am not sure what the word ‘disembodied’ means, but I understand the word spirit, because I have one.”