I laughed. “You forget. There is my point of view. Mr. Gascoyne may not at all like my having struck up an acquaintance with you.” “Well, you can always say you didn’t know.” “What, and drop you?” “Not that, old chap.” He linked his arm affectionately in mine. “We’ll be great friends when I come to town, and damn it all, I’ll be friends with Uncle Gascoyne whether my sister likes it or not.” I was not particularly pleased at the idea of this attractive and well-bred nephew getting into his uncle’s good books; at any rate, not until Mr. Gascoyne had made me a definite promise as to my future. I was very curious to see Miss Gascoyne. It was obvious that she was a strong character. After all, if she were distant it could not do me much harm, and I could leave soon after lunch. We came upon the house suddenly. It was an old-fashioned place which had evidently been added to by degrees. Unexpected gables arose at every turn, and the red brick and ivy, clinging creeper, and gorgeous trails of passion flower and purple clematis were exquisitely mellow. The place looked fairly well kept considering the limited means of the owners, and that very little of Harry Gascoyne’s eight hundred a year went towards its upkeep. “We haven’t any horses since the guv’nor died—at least, that is, I’ve got a hack.” “You were riding the first day I saw you.” “When was that?” I laughed. “I hope you won’t think my excellent memory bad taste, but I think I saw your horse tethered to a gate one morning while you were otherwise engaged.” “By Jove! Was that you? I thought I had seen your face somewhere before.” “I wonder you did not recognise me.” “I say, don’t breathe a word. It might get about. I can’t keep away from her, she’s so awfully pretty.” “Who is she?” “Her father’s a blacksmith. You’d never think it to hear her speak, though. I’ve often thought of taking her to town, but I should never be able to show my face down here again.” “It would be very awkward for your sister.” “It would be awkward altogether.” A figure in white appeared on the veranda. It was Edith Gascoyne, tall, fair, quite beautiful. She greeted me courteously, her brother looking on nervously the while. He then hurried me off to get a brush down, and left me in his bedroom murmuring that he would be back in a minute. I was perfectly aware that he had gone to tell his sister who I was. In a few minutes he returned and I saw at a glance that his short interview had not been altogether pleasant. There was a determined look round his jaw that was somewhat unusual, and I guessed that he had been putting his foot down. If, however, he had been compelled to insist on his sister welcoming me, she certainly showed none of the chagrin of defeat in the perfect courtesy and queenliness with which she advanced to me when I came down into the drawing-room. “My brother says we are cousins, Mr. Rank.” “Yes, it is strange my coming across him in this way, isn’t it?”