"Do you, really?" he said. "Well, no, I can't agree with you. I'd rather have Florence--no, she's talking, she can't hear, and no matter if she does--ten times over. If Trixie's in a good-humour she's sure to be up to mischief, and when she's sulky she's worse." "I think you're all very hard on her," said Imogen, rather sharply. Oliver looked still further taken aback. His admiration for his new friend slightly diminished. Could she have a bad temper? Oliver had no liking for bad-tempered girls. "Well," he said, "to tell you the truth, I think it's rather the other way. Every one's been so uncommonly easy with her, that she's got to think she can do as she pleases." "That's very unfair," said Imogen, still sharply. "People spoil their children, and then when they find the poor things _are_ spoilt, they turn round upon them and abuse them." "There's something in that, perhaps," said Oliver, good-naturedly. His good-nature disarmed Miss Wentworth a little. "I shouldn't have spoken that way," she said, after a pause. "It wasn't my place to say it." "It's all right," Oliver replied. "You needn't mind what you say to me." But a little constraint had come between the two. One or two subjects were started which fell flat, and Imogen plodded on, hating the wet stony path, wishing devoutly she had not come out, and tantalised by overhearing the snatches of bright, interested conversation ahead of her, feeling as if her companions had completely forgotten her existence. It was not so, however. Then came a break in the path, which widened to emerge on a stretch of moorland; and Major Winchester, who had noticed the silence of the two youngest members of the party, turned to look for Imogen. "One can't be very sociable in our recent circumstances," he said laughingly. "It is better now. Don't you admire this great bare spread of country, Miss Wentworth? I hope the air isn't too keen for you?" Imogen shivered slightly, but still she brightened up. "It _is_ rather cold," she replied; "but I like it. If only it wasn't so wet under foot." "But you have strong boots on," said he encouragingly, "and out here in the open it's never really wet for long. We shall not have any more walking as bad as the bit we've had. We cross a corner of the moor to those fells you see over there--the Tor Rocks they are called, where there are some very respectable caves." "In summer they are charming places for picnics," said Florence. She meant to be genial to the young stranger, and with Rex at hand it was more easy to be so. "Especially the smugglers' cave," said Oliver. "Is there a real smugglers' cave?" said Mrs Wyngate, eagerly. "How nice! Can we explore it like that place--Poole's Cavern, don't they call it--in Derbyshire?"