“I am going all over the place for the last time,” she said to Skelton when he came up. “Day after to-morrow we start--we can’t make the journey in less than eight days--and oh, I shall be so glad to be on the road!” It rather disconcerted Skelton that Sylvia, who seemed so different from most women, should be so anxious after what seemed to him a commonplace pleasure. He hated watering places himself. “It will be very gay, no doubt,” he answered. “But it is such an immense effort for so little!” “Yes,” agreed Sylvia, walking slowly along the edge of the river and looking absently down towards Lone Point; “but there is a dreadful stagnation here. I wake up every morning at the same moment--to see the same things--to meet the same people. Ah, how tired I am of it all!” This was a rare complaint for women to make in those days, when a taste for travelling was thought depraved. Skelton observed her closely, and saw signs of an inward restlessness. “And will you be satisfied at the Springs?” he asked, smiling. “Of course not,” answered Sylvia airily. “I shall be no better satisfied than at Belfield; but it will be a change. Ah, Mr. Skelton, you don’t know what it is to be caged!” Skelton thought he understood her. “Some day you will see the world,” he said, “and then you will lose all of your illusions. I am satisfied at Deerchase, because I know it is as good a spot as any in the world.” “Do you think I will ever see the world?” said Sylvia. “Well, I don’t think I will. I want it too much. We never get what we want very, very much.” “Yes, we do,” replied Skelton, looking skyward. “We want rain very, very much, and we will get it very soon.” “If you are afraid of being soaked,” said Sylvia, with a kind of soft insolence, “you had better go home.” Skelton perceived that she was trying to vex him. “No, I sha’n’t go home yet a while; and if a storm comes up, I shall stay with you, as I know your father and mother are away. I saw the carriage drive out of the lane before I started.” “Yet you asked very politely if papa and mamma were at home?” “Certainly I did. Politeness is a necessity when one is carrying out a deception.” Sylvia turned a rosy colour, more with anger than with pleasure. Skelton was amusing himself at her expense. Latterly he had fallen into a half-bantering love-making with her that was infuriating. Sylvia shut her lips, threw back her head, and unconsciously quickened her walk. Skelton, without making the slightest attempt at conversation, walked by her side. They were following the indentations of the river towards the bridge. The sky lowered, and presently a few large drops of rain fell. Sylvia started and turned a little pale. She was afraid of storms, and already the rumbling of thunder was heard. “I must fly home!” she cried. “Good-bye,” and gave him her hand.