The grounds of Yewridge Hall were of considerable extent--they were varied by nature, and had been judiciously manipulated by a good landscape gardener. Fulvia took her way to that part of them most remote from her own house and Minna’s, to where a small lake, partly natural and partly artificial, made a cool retreat in the summer heat, and a most useful skating place in winter. There was a boat-house, with a little boat in it, and there was a kind of summer-house made of rough logs covered with bark, such as may be seen in many a park and garden in the country. To this part of the grounds Minna and her party never penetrated unless by invitation. Minna had a wholesome conviction as to the value of the adage, ‘Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbour’s house, lest he grow weary of thee, and so hate thee.’ Moreover, Fulvia had once said to her that she found the solitude of the spot a great boon, and often went there to be alone. She did not hurry this morning, but walked slowly towards the spot, clad in her cool-looking white morning gown, with its fresh simplicity and plainness. It took her ten minutes to reach the place she was going to. Though her face did not change, her eyes dilated as she came along between the trees towards the side of the pond, and saw Hans there, with his easel and other artist’s apparatus, though he had not apparently fixed upon the spot on which to plant the easel. She had come along noiselessly. His eyes were cast down, and he seemed to be lost in reflection when she first saw him, but as she drew nearer, slowly and ever more slowly, he raised his eyes and bent them full upon her. Fulvia stopped. Hans laid down all the things that were in his hands, and went to meet her, removing his cap as he did so. He took both her hands into his own, and looked at her without speaking. ‘Have you been here long?’ she asked in a quiet, almost toneless voice. ‘Half an hour, perhaps. I don’t know.’ ‘And you were not impatient?’ ‘I was, and I was not. I thought I should never see you, and yet I was absolutely certain that something--probably something disagreeable--had prevented you from coming. What has happened?’ ‘Oh!’ she said in a prolonged tone of weariness and exasperation, ‘that which is always happening. It is the same story over and over again. A miserable, sordid bother. I have been begging a servant man to try if he can’t stay with us a little longer, just to make life endurable to me. He has kindly consented to do so, and I am much in his debt.’ ‘Mein Gott!’ exclaimed Hans, between his teeth. He had not let go of her hands. He drew them together, now, to his breast, and held them enfolded there, and looked down into her face with an expression of longing which seemed to say, ‘I will force you to smile, and to look different.’