It grew to be an accepted custom that these visits should be paid on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, and as she trotted up the long avenue leading to the house Vanna never failed to see the white-capped figure at the library window watching for her approach. The conversation was almost identically the same on each of these visits. Mrs Rendall would discuss the weather of the last three days, inquire into Miss Miggs's symptoms, relate accurately the behaviour of her own cough and the tiresome rheumatic pains in her left shoulder, chronicle the progress in the garden, and the delinquencies of her servant maids. Vanna seemed to herself to do little more than murmur a conventional yes and no from time to time; nevertheless Mrs Rendall invariably pleaded with her to prolong her visit, and never failed to add to her farewell the urgent reminder: "You'll come on Wednesday? You won't forget." If the visitor chanced to turn her head at the bend of the avenue, the white-capped figure was again at the window, watching for the last, the very last glimpse of her retreating figure. At the sight of that watching figure a faint realisation came to Vanna of one of life's tragedies--the pathetic dependence of the old upon the young; the detachment and indifference of youth to age. To herself these weekly visits were a duty and, frankly speaking, a bore. To the old woman, alone in her luxurious home, they formed the brightness and amusement of life, the epochs upon which she lived in hope and recollection. "Poor, dull old soul! I must go regularly. I must not shirk," determined Vanna conscientiously, but she loved her duty none the more. It was towards the end of her third month's residence at Seacliff that, on cantering up the drive of the Manor House, Vanna noticed a change in the position of the white-capped figure. It was there, watching as usual, but at the side, instead of the centre, of the library window, and by her stood a tall, dark figure. Vanna's heart leapt within her; the blood rushed through her veins; in one moment languid indifference was changed to tingling vitality. She straightened herself on the saddle, and as Piers's figure appeared in the porch, lifted her gauntleted hand to her hat in merry salute. The episode of Jean's marriage, with the association of chief bridesmaid and groomsman, had brought the two friends of the bride into closer intimacy, so that the greeting between them was frank and cordial. "Salaam, Diana!" "Salaam, oh, Knight of the--!" Vanna paused, for it was no Knight of the Rueful Countenance who looked into her face as she drew rein by the door. The dark eyes looking into hers were alight with pleasure--with something more than pleasure. Vanna recognised a gleam of surprised admiration and thrilled at the sight even as it forced itself into words. "By Jove, how well you are looking." "Rusticating suits me, you see."