As he spoke in the lane, so now it was no meaningless excuse, but with a tone of most reverential respect and proud humility, Stella, girl-like, noticed that he did not even venture to hold out his hand, and certainly Mr. Adelstone's self-satisfied smile and assured manner rose in her mind to contrast with this stately, high-bred humility. "Do not apologize; it does not matter," she said, conscious that her face had grown crimson and that her eyes were downcast. "Does it not? I am forgiven," and he held out his hand. Stella had crossed her hands behind her as he entered with an instinctive desire to hide her bare arms and the flour, now she put out her hand a few inches and held it up with a smile. "I can't," she said. He looked at the white hand--at the white arm so beautifully molded that a sculptor would have sighed over it in despair at his inability to imitate it, and he still held out his hand. "I do not mind the flour," he said, not as Mr. Adelstone would have said it, but simply, naturally. Stella gave him one small taper finger and he took it and held it for a moment, his eyes smiling into hers; then he relinquished it, with not a word of commonplace compliment, but in silence, and turned to Mr. Etheridge. "It is quite hopeless to ask you to forgive me for interrupting you I know, so I won't ask," he said, and there was in his voice, Stella noticed, a frank candor that was almost boyish but full of respect. At once it seemed to intimate that he had known and honored the old man since he, Leycester, was a boy. "How are you, my lord?" said Mr. Etheridge, giving him his long, thin hand, but still keeping a hold, as it were, on his beloved easel. "Taking the dogs for a walk? Are they safe? Take care, Stella!" For Stella was kneeling down in the midst of them, making friends with the huge mastiff, much to the jealous disgust of the others, who were literally crowding and pushing round her. Lord Leycester looked round and was silent for a moment; his eyes fixed on the kneeling girl rather than on the dogs. Then he said, suddenly: "They are quite safe," and then he added, for Stella's behalf, "they are quite safe, Miss Etheridge." Stella turned her face toward him. "I am not afraid. I should as soon think of biting them as they would dream of biting me, wouldn't you?" and she drew the mastiffs great head on to her lap, where it lay with his big eyes looking up at her piteously, as he licked her hand. "Great Heavens, what a herd of them!" said Mr. Etheridge, who loved dogs--on canvas. "I ought not to have brought them," said Lord Leycester, "but they will be quite quiet, and will do no harm, I assure you." "I don't care if they don't bite my niece," said Mr. Etheridge. "There is no fear of that," he said, quietly, "or I should not allow her to go near them. Please go on with your work, or I shall think I am a nuisance." Mr. Etheridge waved him to a chair. "Won't you sit down?" he said. Lord Leycester shook his head.