She was at the far end; her back was towards him, and she did not hear his step; she started when he spoke her name. But she recovered herself immediately, smiled, and began talking with much the same easy, graceful manner she had shown upon his first arrival at Miolans, when they met at the gate the year before. This meant that she had put him back as an acquaintance where he was then. He did not seem unwilling to go. They strolled onward for ten minutes; then Mrs. Winthrop said that she must start homeward; they turned towards the gate. They had been speaking of Sylvia's illness and recovery. "I often think, when I look at my little aunt," said Ford, "how pretty she must have been in her youth. And, by-the-way, just before leaving Scotland I met a lady who reminded me of her, or rather of my idea of what she must have been. It was Mrs. Lorimer Percival." "She is charming, I am told," said the lady beside him. "I don't know about the charming; I dislike the word. But she is very lovely and very lovable." "Did you see much of her?" "I saw her several times; but only saw her. We did not speak." "You judge, then, by appearance merely." "In this case--yes. Her nature is written on her face." "All are at liberty to study it, then. Pray describe her." He was silent. Then, "If I comply," he said, "will you bear in mind that I am quite well aware that that which makes this little lady's happiness is something that Mrs. Winthrop, of her own accord, has cast aside as nothing worth?" As he rounded off this phrase he turned and looked at her. But she did not meet his eyes. "I will remember," she answered. He waited. But she said nothing more. "Mrs. Percival," he resumed, "is a beautiful young girl, with a face like a wild flower in the woods. She has an expression which is to me enchanting--an expression of sweet and simple goodness, and gentle, confiding trust. One is thankful to have even seen such a face." "You speak warmly. I am afraid you are jealous of poor Mr. Percival." "He did not strike me as poor. If I was jealous, it was not the first time. He was always fortunate." "Perhaps there are other wild flowers in the woods; you must search more diligently." She opened the gate, passed through, and signalled to her groom. "That is what I am trying to do; but I do not succeed. It is terribly lonely work sometimes." "What a confession of weakness!" He placed her in the saddle. "It may be. At any rate, it is the truth. But women do not believe in truth for its own sake; it strikes them as crude." "You mean cruel," said Katharine Winthrop. She rode off, the groom and Gibbon following. He went back to the blacksmith's shop. The next day he went to Heidelberg. But he had not seen the last of Corinne's old château. On the 25th of October he was again riding up the plane-tree avenue of Miolans, this time under bare boughs.