"I am afraid," said the authoress archly, with her hand on the door of her study, "that I had recourse to a subterfuge in order to escape. Those amiable ladies who find time hang so heavily on their hands have no idea how much I value mine, nor how short I find the day for all I have to do in it. My sister will enjoy entertaining them. Annette, I must get back to my proofs. I will let you, my dear, show Mr. Manvers the dairy." Roger followed Annette down the long bricked passage to the _laiterie_. They entered it, and his professional eye turned to the whitewashed ceiling and marked almost unconsciously the stain of damp upon it. "A cracked tile," he said mechanically. "Two. I'll see to it." And then, across the bowls of milk and a leg of mutton sitting in a little wire house, his eyes looked in a dumb agony at Annette. "What is it? What is it?" she gasped, and as she said the words the cook entered slowly, bearing a yellow mould and some stewed fruit upon a tray. Roger repeated the words "cracked tiles," and presently they were in the hall again. "I must speak to you alone," he said desperately; "I came on purpose." She considered a moment. She had no refuge of her own except her bedroom, that agreeable attic with the extended view which had been apportioned to Aunt Catherine, and which she had inhabited for so short a time. The little hall where they were standing was the passage-room of the house. She took up a garden hat, and they went into the garden to the round seat under the apple tree, now ruddy with little contorted red apples. The gardener was scything the grass between the trees, whistling softly to himself. Roger looked at him vindictively. "I will walk part of the way home with you," said Annette, her voice shaking a little in spite of herself, "if you are going through the park." "Yes, I have the keys." "He has found out about Dick and me," she said to herself, "and is going to ask me if it is true." They walked in silence across the empty cornfield, and Roger unlocked the little door in the high park wall. Once there had been a broad drive to the house where that door stood, and you could still see where it had lain between an avenue of old oaks. But the oaks had all been swept away. The ranks of gigantic boles showed the glory that had been. "Uncle John was so fond of the oak avenue," said Roger. "He used to walk in it every day. There wasn't its equal in Lowshire. Anne de la Pole planted it. I never thought Dick would have touched it." And in the devastated avenue, the scene of Dick's recklessness, Roger told Annette of the catastrophe of Harry's marriage with the nurse, and how he had already seen a lawyer about it, and the lawyer was of opinion that it would almost certainly be legal.