"Andrew," she exclaimed, "you haven't come back the same! How did you get those lines on your forehead?" "Are there some?" Andrew asked with a smile. "I suppose I was anxious now and then. Not knowing whether you'll get enough to eat makes one think." Hilda shook her head. "No; that's not it. My dear boy, you have been _developing_ since you went to Canada." "If you're right," laughed Andrew, "it was getting time I did; but you're standing in the way of the baggage truck." They moved on, and when they drove off in Wannop's trap Andrew sat silent for a while, looking about delightedly. It was open weather; by comparison with the Canadian cold, the air was soft and mild. A gray sky hung above the hills, but there was a glimmer of pale red and saffron low in the west, and the rugged slopes, clothed with withered fern, shone a rich, warm brown. Then they dipped into a valley which struck Andrew, accustomed to the monotonous snow-glare, as wonderfully green. The shining riband of a river wound through its midst; clover growing among the stubble and broad strips of raw-red soil where sheep, netted in, stood about the turnip-cutters, checkered the pasture land. They passed climbing woods where the leafless branches formed blurs of blue and gray; and here and there a white thread of foaming water streaked the heights above. It was a countryside that Andrew loved, but now, while softly beautiful, it looked strangely small--a narrow green strip, shut in by lofty moors. Then there were many tall hedgerows and big stone walls; one could not wander there at will. The wide horizons and the limitless stretch of trackless woods were missing. It was curious, Andrew thought, with what content he had once searched stubble and turnips for partridges, and stood with gun ready outside the woods from which the pheasants broke on clattering wings. Now all that seemed tame; he had lost his zest for it in a sterner chase. Hilda broke in upon his reflections. "You haven't spared me much attention yet," she said. "How do you think I'm looking?" "Now that I think of it, you're growing rather pretty; though that is what I expected." "I'm aware of it." Hilda made him the best curtsey that space allowed. "But don't you notice that I'm looking more mature and intellectual?" "Steady!" Wannop cautioned. "You nearly knocked the whip out of my hand. Keep that kind of thing for the ballroom--it's wasted on your brother." "The maturity didn't strike me; but you used to show signs of intelligence now and then," Andrew answered. "Perhaps it's better to be pretty. Cleverness is open to any one who is willing to study. But did you see any girl as nice-looking as I am while you were in Canada?" "Even at the risk of giving offense, I can think of one--though of course beauty is largely a matter of taste." "Ah!" exclaimed Hilda delightedly. "I had my suspicions! I suppose you mean the girl who wrote to Ethel about you?" Andrew started and Wannop laughed.