"No, no!" she said, and she slipped out of his arms and stood a little away from him, the color coming and going in her face; it was the first time that any man's arms, save her father's, had ever encircled her. "Are you quite sure?" he repeated. "Quite," she said, then she laughed. "What would have happened if I had slipped?" "You would have sprained your ankle," he said. "Sprained my ankle, really?" she repeated, with open eyes. "Yes, and I should have had to carry you down to the boat," he said, slowly. She looked away from him. "I am glad I did not slip." "And I," he said, "am--glad also." She stooped and picked up the primroses and ran down the slope, her cheeks aflame, a feeling that was something like shame, and yet too full of a strange, indefinable joy to be sullen shame, took possession of her. With light feet, her hat swinging in her hand, she threaded her way between the trees and sprang on to the grassy road beside the river bank. He did not follow so quickly, but stood for a moment looking at her, his face pale, his eyes full of a strange, wistful restlessness. Then Stella heard his step, firm and masterful, behind her. A sudden impulse tempted her sorely to jump into the boat and push off--she could pull a pair of sculls--and her hand was on the edge of the boat, when she heard the sound of bells, and paused with astonishment. Looking up she saw a tiny phæton drawn by a pair of cream-white ponies coming along the road; it was the bells on their harness that she had heard. They came along at a fair pace, and Stella saw that the phæton was being driven by a coachman in dark-brown livery, but the next moment all her attention was absorbed by the young girl who sat beside him. She was so fair, so lovely, so ethereal looking, that Stella was spellbound. A book was in her hand--ungloved and small and white as a child's--but she was not reading. She held it so loosely that as the phæton came along the top of the bank which hid Stella, the book dropped from the lax grasp of the white fingers. The girl uttered an exclamation, and Stella, obeying one of her sudden impulses, sprang lightly up the bank, and picking up the book, held it toward her. Her appearance was so sudden that Lady Lilian was startled and for a moment the pale face was dyed with a faint color; even after the moment had passed she sat speechless, and the surprise in her eyes gave place to a frank, generous admiration. "Oh, thank you--thank you!" she said. "How kind of you. It was so stupid of me to drop it. But where did you come from--the clouds?" And there was a delicious hint of flattery in the look that accompanied the words. "Quite the reverse," said Stella, with her open smile. "I was standing below there, by the boat." And she pointed. "Oh?" said Lady Lilian. "I did not see you."