She turned, and walked slowly back to where the two men were standing talking together, some eight or ten yards away. Their backs were turned towards her, and her assailant of a few minutes past was evidently answering an appeal from his friend. She caught the last words as she drew near: "I will go to the stable and look after the mare. ... You can take them up to the house without my help. I can't stand any more of that girl--" He wheeled round as he spoke, and found himself face to face with Cornelia. They stared each other full in the eyes, like two combatants measuring strength before a battle. CHAPTER EIGHT. To Elma it was still a dream, but a dream growing momentarily more wonderful and thrilling. The stupor in her head was passing away, and there was nothing painful in the lassitude which remained. She was just weak and languid, content to lie still in the sunshine, her head resting on one of the cushions from the overturned cart, her eyes turning instinctively to the bronzed face which bent over her with such tender solicitude. As for Geoffrey Greville, he was realising with a curious mingling of dismay and elation that the moment was fated to be historic in the story of his life. For the last two years he had been haunted by the vision of Elma Ramsden's flower-like face at odd, but by no means inconsequent, moments. When, for instance, his mother expatiated on the duty of marriage for a man in his position, and extolled the fascinations of certain youthful members of county society; when he walked down the long picture-gallery, and regarded the space on the wall where his wife's portrait might some day hang beside his own; when he sat at the head of his table, and looked across at the opposite space; why was it that in such moments as these the face of this one girl flashed forward, and persistently blocked the way? Elma Ramsden!--just a little, insignificant girl, whom he had met at half a dozen garden parties, and at homes. She did not even belong to the county set, but was the daughter of a funny, dumpy little mother, who disapproved on principle of everything smart and up-to-date--himself emphatically included. The good lady evidently regarded him as a wicked, fox-like creature, whose society was fraught with danger to her tender bantling. He had seen her clucking with agitation as he had sat with Elma beneath the trees.