It was almost at the end of this Day of Rest that the Governor, extra sunburnt and out-of-door-looking from the links, returned to find the women-folk of his household—to which I suppose I must count myself as belonging officially—sitting over that diminuendo of half-cups that marks the end of tea. “Has your uncle gone, dear?” “Yes; met some old crony of his and joined him for the journey home. If you tell me where his bag is I’ll get it sent down to the station to meet the six, Mother?” “I’ll see to it now.” She went out of the drawing-room—I _know_ with the usual gentle intention of leaving the young people a minute to themselves after having been apart all day; but before Theodora and Blanche could follow her, the Governor, saying that he simply must change and get this dust off, disappeared himself. He disappeared until supper-time. For late Sunday supper they don’t dress at The Lawn. So I was still wearing my cream cloth costume with the white French blouse that Mrs. Waters likes when the hour came which is given over to my official _fiancé_ and myself. I’m quite hardened to this now. I supposed he would suggest the den. (I hate that den.) But he didn’t. “Shall we go for a walk?” he said instead, “round the lawn?” “Yes.” “Shall I fetch you a wrap to put over that frock?” “Oh, no. It’s perfectly warm, thanks.” “Oh.... Very well.” And so, at the dusk of the day, just as in the morning sunshine of it, I found myself pacing a garden path by his side, and wishing to goodness he’d get this over, out of the way. He ought to be made to _grovel_, of course; that was as it should be. But the longer he delayed mentioning that grotesque incident, the more it _loomed_! It seemed to hang over my head like the shade of the trees that bordered the further edge of the lawn, which we had now reached. The great spread of turf was gleaming greyly in the dew. A bat, attracted by the whiteness of my gown, flickered out of the shade and wheeled above us. “Well,” began the Governor, “my uncle left all sorts of messages for you.” He would, of course. Carefully refraining from asking what they were, I said mildly, “Thank you.” “He’s back in London by now.” “Yes.” “I suppose if he’d stayed on much longer,” observed my employer, in a detached tone, “_you wouldn’t_!” I said defensively, “I really _had_ been thinking I might find myself obliged to go back to town at once!” “After arranging to stay here for at least a fortnight,” he concluded quietly; “after having given notice at the office—” “The office” was good! Just as if “the office” meant anything but himself, Mr. William Waters! —“and having no people of your own to consider—what should you have said to mine?”