She perched herself on the stile and sat there gazing thoughtfully in front of her. In that moment she made a sweet and pleasing picture of English girlhood. The sunlight played through the trees on to her hair, picking out the shining red-gold threads, and touching with warmer glow the softly tinted skin. The clean-cut, patrician features, dark-arched eyebrows, and proud, rather full lips seemed to contrast strangely with the extreme simplicity of her flowered muslin frock. And indeed she came of another race of women than that of which Delford and its inhabitants were accustomed—something finer, more delicate, more keenly tempered. It was almost impossible to think of her as the Rev. John’s daughter—quite impossible as Miles Ingestre’s sister. One could only understand the small, aristocratic features when one remembered that Mrs. Ingestre was her mother. Captain Arnold remembered the fact keenly that moment. "I declare you are Mrs. Ingestre’s miniature!" he exclaimed. "This morning, one would positively think she had been made twenty years younger, and perched up there as a surprise-packet." Nora turned on him with a pleased smile. "This is a nice compliment," she said; "but I have no time for such things just now. Any moment Mrs. Clerk might scurry round the corner, and then my reputation would be gone for ever. She would probably tell every one that I had come out to meet you on purpose." "Which is true, by the way, isn’t it?" he inquired, smiling. "Yes, quite true; only my reason is respectable—not the sort of reason that Mrs. Clerk would put down to my credit." He came closer and, leaning his elbows on the cross-bars of the stile, looked up into her face. "I hope it is a nice reason," he said. "No," she answered, "it is a serious reason, and not in the least nice. I expect you have already heard something about it, haven’t you?" He hesitated. "Of course—I have heard rumours," he said. "As a rule I ignore such things, but I could not altogether ignore this; it concerned you and yours too closely." "Besides, it is true," she added. "True, Nora?" "Yes, quite true. We are ruined." "My dear girl!" "At least, comparatively ruined," she corrected. For a moment he was silent, apparently intent on the study of his own strong square hands linked together in front of him. "How did it happen?" he asked at last. "I don’t know," she answered impatiently. "Father bought some shares that aren’t any good. I suppose he wanted to make money." Her tone was unconsciously scornful. "We all want to do that," Arnold observed in defence. The strongly arched eyebrows went up a degree.