All these signs and tokens of the approach of the inevitable end were particularly conspicuous about the narrow grass path shut in by high yew hedges, up and down which Julian Romayne and Hilda Newton were sauntering together. Fallen leaves were thick upon it, and in the flower-beds, by which it was bordered, the summer flowers, whose day was long since done, had not been replaced by their autumn successors. Apparently, the walk was a secluded and little frequented one, on which it was not worth while to spend much pains. Judging from the coquettish toss of the head, tempered by a certain softness of tone, with which Miss Newton replied to the insinuated regret of Julian’s words, it seemed not improbable that those characteristics had something to do with their selection of that particular spot for their stroll. They had been staying in this pleasant country house together for the last week, the hostess having taken a fancy to Mrs. Halse’s cousin in town; and now in another hour Julian and his mother would be on their way home. As the half-mocking, half-inviting words fell from his companion’s lips, Julian turned impetuously towards the pretty, piquant face; it was shaded by a bewitching garden hat. “I never meant it so much before, on my honour,” he said impulsively; adding with a boyish suggestion of tender reproach in his voice: “I should have thought you might have known that. It’s awfully hard lines to think it’s over.” Miss Newton had a large crimson dahlia in her hand, and she was plucking the petals slowly away and scattering them at her feet. “Is it?” she said. “You know it is,” he returned ardently, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark face bent over the crimson flower. “Won’t you tell me that you’re a little sorry, too? Miss Newton--Hilda----” His vigorous young hand was just closing over the pretty little fingers that held the dahlia; the dainty little figure was yielding to him nothing loath, it seemed, when from the further end of the grass walk a third voice broke in upon their _tête-à-tête_, and as they started instinctively apart Mrs. Romayne, accompanied by their hostess, came sauntering towards them. “Taking a farewell look at the quaint old walk, Julian?” she said with suave carelessness as she drew near them. “The garden is looking too beautiful this morning, isn’t it, Miss Newton? What a lovely dahlia that is you were showing Julian!” She looked smilingly at Miss Newton as she spoke, apparently quite unconscious that the girl’s face was white--not with embarrassment, disappointment, or emotion, but with sheer angry resentment--and she moved on as she spoke, tacitly compelling Miss Newton to move on at her side, while Julian and the other lady followed, perforce together. “We have only about ten minutes more, I’m afraid,” she said. “I was just taking a last stroll round the place with Mrs. Ponsonby. I’m afraid we shall find London rather unbearable to-night. The call of duty is always so very inconvenient!”