Mr. Anerley said nothing, but he did not look particularly pleased. "If that had not been old Thwaites," muttered Will, "I should have said it was an old fool." So Will walked on to Chesnut Bank. He had not the heart to tear the old man away from his favourite sport in order to give him this bad news. After dinner, he now thought, would be time enough; and he himself seemed to have gained a respite until then. But if he was in the meanwhile relieved from the necessity of bearing the evil tidings to his father, there remained his meeting with Dove, which he had for long looked forward to with a half-conscious fear. As he drew near the house, he began to think this the greater trial of the two. Dove, still sitting in the drawing-room, heard footsteps on the gravelled pathway leading down through the garden. The music almost dropped from her hands as she listened intently for a moment—then a flush of joyous colour stole over her face. But, all the same, she opened the book again, and sate obstinately looking at pages which she did not see. "Dove," said Will, tapping at the French window, "open and let me in." No answer—Dove still intently regarding the music. So he had to go on to the hall-door, ring the bell, and enter the drawing-room from the passage. "Oh, you are come back again!" said Dove, with mimic surprise, and with admirably simulated carelessness. She held out her hand to him. She fancied he would be dreadfully astonished and perturbed by this cold reception—that they would have a nice little quarrel, and an explanation, and all the divine joys of making-up, before Mrs. Anerley could come down from the apple-closet, in which she had been engaged since breakfast-time. But, on the contrary, Will was neither surprised nor disturbed. He looked quite grave, perhaps a little sad, and took her hand, saying kindly— "Yes, back again. I hope you have been well while I was away, Dove; and that you amused yourself." Dove was alarmed; he had not even offered to kiss her. "What is the matter with you, Will?" she said, with a vague fear in her pretty violet eyes. "Why, nothing much." "Is it I, then? Are you vexed with me, that you should be so cold with me after being away so long a time?" There she stood, with her eyes downcast, a troubled look on her face, and both her hands pulling to pieces a little engraving she held. "Why should I be vexed with you, Dove?" he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. He dared not kiss her: there dwelt on his lips yet the memory of that sad leave-taking of the night before. "Then why are you and I standing here like strangers?" she said, stamping her little foot. She could not tell how things had all gone wrong; but they had gone wrong; and the meeting she had looked forward to with such pleasurable anticipation was an embarrassing failure. At this moment Mrs. Anerley entered, and the girl saw her receive the kiss which had been denied to herself.