‘I noticed that she did press my arm rather more than seemed needful, when we were walking last evening by the lake,’ remarked the vicar. ‘And I remember now that she squeezed my hand in a way that seemed to me quite unnecessary, when she bade me good-night on the steps of the hotel.’ ‘Gentlemen, let there be no jealousy between you, I beg,’ said Miss Pen with mock-solemnity. ‘If you decline to combine your forces, then make up your minds which of you is to have her ladyship, and let the other one go and bewail his sorrows to the moon.’ ‘By the way, who _is_ Lady Renshaw?’ asked the vicar. ‘I never had the pleasure of hearing her name till yesterday.’ ‘Her ladyship is the widow of an alderman and ex-sheriff of London, who was knighted on the occasion of some great event in the City. Her husband, who was much older than herself, left her very well off when he died. That pretty girl, her niece, who travels about with her, has no fortune of her own, and one of her ladyship’s chief objects in life would seem to be to find a rich husband for her. At the same time, from what I have already seen of her, it appears to me that Lady Renshaw herself would by no means object to enter the matrimonial state again, could she only find a husband to suit her views.’ ‘A dangerous woman evidently. We must beware of her, Mac,’ said the vicar. The doctor shook his head. ‘My dear friend, your caution doesn’t apply to me,’ he said. ‘Lady Renshaw is just one of those women that I would not think of making my wife, if she was worth her weight in gold.’ They had begun to stroll slowly forward during the last minute or two, and leaving the bridge behind them, were now presently lost to view down one of the many wooded paths which intersected the valley in every direction. But a few minutes had passed, when Lady Renshaw and Miss Wynter appeared, advancing slowly in the opposite direction. They halted on the bridge as the others had done before them. ‘What a sweetly pretty place!’ exclaimed Miss Wynter. ‘I had no idea it would be half so lovely. I could wander about here for a week,’ adding under her breath, ‘especially if I had Dick to keep me company.’ ‘Pooh! my dear; you will have had quite enough of it by luncheon-time,’ responded her aunt, who had seated herself on the low coping of the bridge with her back to the view up the glen. ‘I always thought you were an admirer of pretty scenery, aunt.’ ‘So I am—when in society. But now that we are alone, there’s no need to go into ecstasies about it. On a broiling day like this, I would exchange all the scenery of the Lakes for an easy-chair in the veranda, a nice novel, and the music of a band in the distance.’ Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she gazed around and said: ‘By-the-bye, what has become of Mr Golightly?’ ‘I saw him strolling in this direction a few minutes ago,’ was the innocent answer. ‘I have no doubt that he is somewhere about.’