He was just in time. The carriage stood at the door with Colonel Ogilvie’s “grip-sack” at the driver’s feet. Then the Boots ran down the steps and held the carriage door open. Joy came holding her father’s arm. They got into the carriage and drove away. Athlyne waited, sitting on the seat on the grass lawn smoking luxuriously. He forgot that he was hungry and thirsty, forgot everything except that he would before long see Joy again, this time _alone_. His thoughts were evidently pleasant, for the time flew fast. Indeed he must have been in something like a waking dream which absorbed all his faculties for he did not notice the flight of time at all. It was only when, recalled to himself by the passing of a carriage, he looked up and saw Joy that he came back to reality. To his disappointment her head was turned away. When within sight of the garden, she had noticed him and as she did not wish him, just yet, to know that she knew of his presence, she found her eyes fixed on the other side of the street. It was the easiest and most certain way of avoiding complexities. He slipped over to the lilacs to see her alight. When she had done so she turned to the coachman and said: “You understand I shall not want you in the morning as I shall be out walking; but if I don’t send for you in the afternoon, or if you don’t get any message you will meet my father at Windermere station at a quarter to five.” She went to the front of the carriage and stroked the horses’ noses and necks after her usual fashion. He had as good a view of her profile as the twilight would allow. Then with a pleasant “Good evening!” to the coachman she tripped up the steps and disappeared. For more than a quarter of an hour Athlyne watched the windows; but she did not appear. This was natural enough, for she was behind the curtains peeping out to see if he went back to his seat on the lawn. When she saw that he did not return Joy, with a gentle sigh, went to her room.