And then he remembered. It had been an afternoon back in the early spring. Sir Harry, pleading that he was too much of an invalid to venture out, had written asking Mr. Mowbray to come up to The Abbey to see him on business, and Mr. Mowbray, pleading engagements, had sent Anthony. It had merely been to talk about the letting of the house. Sir Harry and his family had decided to live abroad for the present and were leaving almost immediately. Anthony had sat by the window making notes, and Sir Harry, giving unnecessary instructions, had been walking up and down the room with his hands behind him. The door had sprung open and a girl had burst into the room. Anthony had hardly had time to notice her. She had not expected a stranger and was evidently in doubt whether she was to be introduced or not. Her father had solved the problem for her by telling her to run away and not come back. And if she did to come in more quietly next time and not like a whirlwind. And she had made a grimace and had gone out again. He had only seen her for those few seconds, and it rather surprised him that he recollected her so minutely, even to the dimple in her chin. She came nearer and nearer. He was wondering whether to speak to her when for the first time she looked up and their eyes met. She was beside a great group of delphiniums. He noticed that their deep blue was almost the same colour as the dress she was wearing. She must have taken a swift step behind them during some instant when he had taken his eyes off her. He waited a while, expecting her to emerge, but she did not do so, and for him to linger there might seem impertinence. On his way back, past the side entrance to the house, he came upon old Wilkins, the caretaker; he had once been the coachman. “When did the family come back?” Anthony asked him. It was odd that Sir Harry had not written. It might be that they had returned to England only for a short visit and had not thought it worth while. The man stared at him. “What do you mean?” he said. “There’s nobody here.” “But I’ve just seen her,” said Anthony. “Miss Coomber.” He wished the next moment that he had not said it, for the old man’s face clearly showed that he thought Anthony mad. “It must be her spirit, Mr. Anthony,” he said, “that you’ve seen. Her body ain’t here.” Anthony felt himself flushing. He laughed. “I must have been dreaming,” he said. “That’s the only explanation I can see,” said Mr. Wilkins. He wished Anthony good afternoon and turned into the house. Anthony heard him calling to his wife. It was dark before Anthony reached home. CHAPTER X