By and by his vicinity was discovered to her by Joss, who had been dashing about among the cabbages in chase of an historic pheasant, and now accorded him a rapturous acknowledgment. He had just finished his task, and stepped out into the walk; as the young lady approached he touched his cap, and she halted for a moment and said, with obvious hesitation-- “A lovely day, isn’t it?” “Yes, miss;” and then he ventured to add, “You never come out in the car now?” “No,” she answered, “never again; it’s a juggernaut!” “I would not say that!” he protested. “What happened could not have been helped; of course, it’s an old machine and out of date”--(he was thinking of the 60 h.p. Napier at Westmere)--“and requires a lot of humouring to get her to run at all, and if put to too high a pressure might go to pieces--still----” But here Miss Morven interrupted with a hasty gesture, and, laying her flowers upon the sundial, turned to face him fully, and said-- “I’m rather surprised”--she paused for a moment, and then resumed--“that when you saw what a dull sort of place this was, and what a wretched old car you had to drive, you stayed on. You really have no proper job; my aunt’s motoring is absurd. I cannot imagine why you remain here.” “Can you not, miss?” he answered, in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the sundial and its motto, “Time Trieth All.” Suddenly raising his eyes, he met hers steadily--for one unguarded moment the truth was in his face!--and there was a thrill of passion in his voice as he added, “Then, in that case, I am afraid it would be impossible for me to tell you.” For as long as one could count ten, there was an expressive silence, only broken by the crashing of cabbage leaves, the notes of wood pigeons, the boom of a passing bee. Miss Morven remained motionless, but the trembling of her lip indicated the tension of her self-control, and a wave of sudden colour invaded her cheeks, and raced up into her wavy dark hair. This tell-tale blush betrayed that she knew as well as the chauffeur, his sole reason for remaining in Ottinge. Then without a word she lifted the flowers, and, holding herself unusually erect, the slim white figure proceeded down the walk that led towards the old bowling-green. Wynyard, as he stood watching her, asked himself, Was she also passing out of his life? In another moment a yew hedge had hid her from his eyes. “I believe I’ve done it now!” he muttered. “I could not help it; she knows, and is ready to kill me for my presumption! She will tell her aunts, and I shall get the sack.” He picked up a small blossom that Aurea had dropped on the sundial, opened his watch, and carefully placed the little flower along with the little photograph. When people are in love, what irrational follies tempt them! CHAPTER XXII AUREA’S REFLECTIONS