She went quickly through a copse and growth of underwood, over a ditch into the fields, across the fields and out by the church to the road. She saw in a moment that the gates of the house were open and her heart gave a bound. He was coming, perhaps he had come already, and would know something about Tom Carringford. She went a few steps up the drive, between the larches and the fir-trees with the little monthly rose bushes in front, and wondered if she dared go up to the house and ask for him--her father's old friend would hardly take it amiss. Then she met the handy man who looked after the garden. Sir George had come the night before, he told her--come for a week, but he was out; drove away in a fly, to see some of the country round-about, most likely. Margaret went out of the gate with a smile on her lips, to find herself face to face with Mr. Garratt on his steed. He was ambling past cautiously, not in the least expecting to see her, but the moment he did he pulled himself up and tried to look smart and unconcerned. She laughed and nodded to him because she was so happy, and because it amused her to see Hannah's sweetheart riding by supremely satisfied with himself, and his spats, and his crop, and bowler hat. He tugged at his mustache when he saw Margaret, and lifted his hat with a little flourish. "Why, Mr. Garratt," she said, "I didn't know you!" He was delighted at her manner; he took it as a tribute to his improved appearance; he held his reins tightly and swayed about a little in his saddle, as if his steed were restive. "Riding is a little more lively, Miss Vincent, than tooling along in a trap; of course, if there's some one beside you it's different." He tried to put significance into his tone. "You should get Hannah to meet you at the station in the brown cart," she said, wickedly, "and drive you back." "I'm not sure whether it would be an enjoyment or not, Miss Vincent." She passed him while he spoke, and stood by the gate that opened into the field. "I'm sure it would," she answered, as she undid the latch. "We shall meet presently," and she gave him a little nod of dismissal. "I'm going this way." In a moment he had dismounted and stood by her side. "I can lead the mare across the grass and have the pleasure of escorting you at the same time," he said, quickly. They stood looking at each other for a moment, and the intolerance that she always felt for him came back. "I'm not sure that I'm going home yet," she said, "or that I'm going back this way, after all." "Any way will do for me, I'm not in a hurry. We might have a little talk about London, and the theatres," he added, with a sudden inspiration. "Miss Barton is rather strict, you know." "Hannah was brought up to think the theatre a wicked place, so she is quite right not to go to one, and to disapprove of people who do--my father doesn't think it wrong."