"I hope you may come more often than you think. Mr Goring is talking of buying the Cottage, and if that comes off you will be constantly with them. My visits also are only occasional. For nine months of the year I am in town. It will be an extra attraction to come down to a place where I am bound to be happy. Where is your settled home?" "I have no home at present." Vanna vouchsafed no further explanation, and Piers did not ask for one, for which she was grateful. More than once this tactful reservation of the obvious had arrested her attention, and been mentally noted as the man's best point. Vanna felt sorry for him, tender over him, as a woman will do over something that is suffering or weak. The nervous, restless face looked far indeed from content, yet he had declared that if he had power to wish he would not know what to desire. That might mean that he was dwelling in that unrecognised stage of love, that period of discomfort, doubt, and upheaval, which precedes the final illumination. It would go hard with him if he loved and were disappointed. She put the thought aside with resolute effort. Was not the glen dedicated to happy thoughts? The half-hour slipped quickly away, and presently Jean herself descended to seat herself on the bench by Vanna's side, and take the conversation under her own control. At four o'clock they returned to the house, mounting the steep path, and entering with a sigh the stiff precincts of the garden. On the verandah the two stout, black-robed figures of the old ladies could be seen reposing in their wickerwork chairs, but, behold, the distance between those chairs was largely increased, and between the two, the obvious centre of attraction, sat a third form--a masculine form, clad in light grey clothes, towards whom both glances were directed, who gesticulated with his hands, and bent from side to side. The face of this newcomer could not be distinguished; his figure was half hidden by the encircling chairs. "Who the dickens?" ejaculated Piers blankly. He stared beneath frowning brows, searching memory, without response. "None of the neighbours. Some one from town. How has he come?"