Miss Morven had been dining at the Manor. She had endured a long, leaden evening playing draughts with her Aunt Bella; she played so carelessly that Bella had repeatedly huffed her, and eventually won with six kings to the good! After their niece’s departure, the sisters were for once unanimous in their opinion: they had never seen Aurea looking so well, as that night. “What a rose-blush complexion, what clear, glowing eyes!” said Susan, with enthusiasm. “Yes,” agreed Miss Parrett, who was putting away the draught-board, “she’s got _my_ skin, and her mother’s eyes. I’ve often been asked if I were painted!” she announced, with serene complacency. Susan felt inclined to say, “And _were_ you?” but her courage failed her. Bella could never see a joke! She had no recollection of Bella’s beauty--Bella’s complexion, as long as she could remember it, had been the colour of mutton fat--but Bella was twenty-five years her senior--and no doubt her bloom had withered early. “The girl looks to me--as if--as if----” “Bertie Woolcock had proposed!” supplemented Bella. “Yes, I shouldn’t wonder.” “No--not that.” “Then what?” snapped her sister. “As if--and you stop; it’s a dreadful habit not to be able to finish a sentence--it shows a weak intellect.” “Well, since you must have it, Bella--as if she were in love.” “So she is--with young Woolcock.” “Nonsense,” repeated Susan, with unusual decision. “Susan, don’t you dare to say ‘nonsense’ when _I_ say a thing is so; you forget yourself. Aurea will be married to Herbert Woolcock before Christmas--that is pretty well settled. And now you may lock up the silver; I am going to bed.” * * * * * As Miss Morven was proceeding homewards, and, as usual, unattended (in spite of her Aunt Bella’s repeated remonstrances), she passed the Drum, and noticed a motor in waiting, and also a light in a conspicuous part of the premises--the little, bulging, front sitting-room. Here two figures were sharply outlined on the yellow blind. As Aurea looked, she saw a man and woman standing face to face; the man put his hands on the woman’s shoulders and stooped and kissed her. She recognised his profile in that instant--it was the profile of Owen Wynyard! Although brother and sister had taken leave of one another, when they reached the car Wynyard looked up at the sky and said-- “It’s a splendid night; I believe I’ll go on with you to Brodfield, and walk back.”