"I was not thinking of either of you," replied Florence, icily. Mabella's swarthy face darkened; she was not quite proof against Florence's contempt. "Will you come, Mrs Wyngate?" Florence proceeded, "and your husband; and you, Fred?" turning to her eldest brother. "Wyngate and I are reserving ourselves for our great shoot to-morrow," said Captain Helmont. "I think billiards will be more in our line, and this horrid damp makes us old Indians rheumatic." "But I will come," cried Mrs Wyngate, "though I am an older Indian than either of you;" which was true, as she was some years her husband's senior--a fact which she never affected to deny, and had married him as a widow out in Madras. She was good-natured and lively without being fast, and Florence had selected her with a view to Rex's approval of her society for Imogen, the guileless. So they all dispersed, and before long the walking party found themselves in front of the house scanning the sky and consulting as to their destination; Miss Wentworth, anxious to believe herself perfectly happy, though, as a matter of fact, Florence's stout boots were too big for her, and her own waterproof, worn above her thick cloth jacket--for it was _very_ cold--far from an ideal garment as to comfort, or, as she sadly feared, as to appearance either. Truth to tell, Imogen was not an enthusiast about long walks. She was quickly tired, and entirely unaccustomed to real country life. Then she was a little afraid of Florence, and Mrs Wyngate was a complete stranger. "If I could have gone alone with Major Winchester and, I suppose, Oliver, I should have liked it much better," she said to herself. "No," decided Rex, "it will not rain again for three or four hours certainly. Don't you agree with me, Noll?" Oliver, who was nothing if not a weather prophet on his native heath, did agree. "So," continued Major Winchester in his decided, slightly autocratic tones, "we shall run no risk in skirting the Great Fell, by the Torwood road. We can show Miss Wentworth the two caves, and if we are very lucky we may catch a gleam of red sunset over the moor." "Not much red sunset in this evening's programme, I take it," said Oliver, as he attached himself to Imogen. The path was narrow, accommodating but two abreast in its moments of generosity, and narrowing, every now and then, to scanty for one, considering the fringes of drenched bracken and other rough verdure at each side. Mrs Wyngate naturally took the lead, as Imogen had hung back at the start-- Florence closely behind her. Then came Rex, and a conversation _a trois_ began, leaving the girl to Noll's good offices. He was not brilliant, and the only subject on which he ever approached eloquence being but a yard or two in front of him, could scarcely, under the circumstances, be discussed. Before long the young stranger began to feel considerably bored. "I wish Trixie had come with us," she said to Oliver. Oliver stared.