“I should so much like to see your drawing of the cottage at Wood End,” said Kingcote. “When was that made?” Isabel inquired, with a look of surprise. Luncheon was announced. As they went to the dining-room, Kingcote explained that he had passed Miss Warren when she was engaged on the sketch, before ever he had thought of living in the cottage. “Was it that which gave you the idea?” Isabel asked. “Perhaps it kept the spot in my mind. I was on a walking tour at the time.” “Not thinking of such a step?” “No; the idea came subsequently.” During the meal, conversation occupied itself with subjects such as the picturesque spots to be found about Winstoke, the interesting houses in that part of the county, Mr. Vissian and his bibliomania, the precocity of Percy Vissian. Ada contented herself with a two-edged utterance now and then, not given however in a disagreeable way; on the whole she seemed to like their guest’s talk. Kingcote several times found her open gaze turned upon himself, and was reminded of the evening when she parted from Mr. Vissian at the gates of Knightswell. The drawing-room had French windows, opening upon the lawn. When they had repaired thither after lunch, Ada, after sitting in silence for a few moments, rose and went out into the open air. Mrs. Clarendon followed her with her eyes, and seemed about to speak, but in the end let her pass unaddressed. Kingcote was examining the caryatides on either side of the fireplace. He turned, saw that his hostess was alone, and came to a seat near her. “Are you not very lonely in your cottage?” Isabel asked. “Sometimes, yes. But then I went there for the sake of loneliness.” “It isn’t rude to ask you? You are doing literary work, no doubt?” “No; I am doing no work at all.” “But however do you spend your time in that dreadful place?” “Dreadful? Does it show to you in that light?” “Picturesque, I admit; but----” She paused, with her head just on one side. “I can well understand the horror with which you regard such a mode of life,” said Kingcote, laughing. “But I have never had the habit of luxury, and, so long as I am free, nothing else matters much.” “Free from what?” “From sights and sounds which disgust me, from the contiguity of mean and hateful people, from suggestions which make life hideous; free to live with my fancies, and in the thoughts of men I love.” Isabel regarded him with a half-puzzled smile, and reflected before she spoke again. “What and where are all these things which revolt you?” she asked. “Wherever men are gathered together; wherever there is what is called Society, and, along with it, what is called a social question.” “But you are not a misanthropist?” Kingcote was half amused to perceive the difficulty she had in understanding him. Suggestions of this kind were evidently quite new to her; probably she did not even know what he meant by the phrase “social question.”