"Silly thing to do," he muttered, and went off. Miriam chuckled under her whistling as she strolled across the moor. She did not whistle a tune, but uttered sweet, plaintive notes like a bird's call, and as she reached the stream a tall figure rose up from the darkness of the ground. "Oh, are you here, George?" she said. "I'm glad. I'm sick of everything." "H'm. I'm glad I'm useful. Are the others having their usual prayer-meeting?" "What do you mean?" "That Mackenzie of yours and your brother, sitting in the dip and talking. I can't think what on earth they find to say." "Well, you see, George, they are very clever people. Let us sit down. You can't--I mean you and I can't appreciate them properly." "The Mackenzie looks a fool." "He is a great friend of mine. You must not be rude. Manners makyth man. According to that, you are not always a man when you're with me." He breathed deeply. "There's something about you--" "Now you're blaming me, and that's not gallant." "You think I'm not fit to breathe the same air with you, don't you?" "Yes, sometimes." She sat hugging her knees and swaying to and fro, and with each forward movement her face neared his. "But at others you are quite presentable. Last night you were charming to me, George." "I can be what I choose. D'you know that I had the same education as your brothers?" "You're always saying that. But you forget that you didn't have me for a sister." "No, thank God." "Now--!" "That's a compliment." "Oh! And, George," she peered at him and dared herself to say the words, though old Halkett's ghost might be lurking among the trees: "I don't think your father can have been a ve-ry good influence on a wild young man like you." "The old man's dead. Leave it at that. And who says I'm wild?" "Aren't you? Don't disappoint me." "I'm all right," he said with admirable simplicity, "if I don't drink." "Then you mustn't, and yet I love to think that you're a bold, bad man." His eyes, which rarely widened, did so now, and in the gathering dusk she saw a flash of light. "You see, it makes me feel so brave, George." "It ought to." There was danger in his presence and she liked invoking it; but there was a certain coarseness, also invoked by her, from which she shrank, towards which she crept, step by step, again. She made no answer to his words. In her black dress and against the darkness of the wood, she was hardly more than a face and two small hands. There was a gentle movement among the trees; they were singing their welcome of a peaceful night; the running of the stream came loudly, giving itself courage for the plunge into the wood. Miriam spoke in a low voice. "It's getting late. The others must have gone in. They'll wonder where I am." "And they'd be horrified, I suppose, if they knew." She bent towards him so that he might see her reproachful face. "You've spoilt this lovely night. You don't match the sky and stars. I wish I hadn't met you."