"My poor darling, it might have killed you! How ever did you do it?" But, as so often happens in such cases, that was what Georgie had never been able to remember. So Gwynneth turned to Jasper Musk, who sat within earshot; it was in the Flint House garden, on the very afternoon of her return. "That was my fault," said Jasper, gruffly enough, yet with such a glance at Georgie that Gwynneth was sorry she had broached the subject, and changed it at once. But she reverted to it as soon as she had Georgie to herself. Who had looked after him when he was ill? She was feeling very jealous of somebody. "Granny did." "No one else?" "An' grand-daddy." "Was that all, Georgie?" Gwynneth was very sorry she had ever gone abroad. "Course it wasn't all," said Georgie, remembering. "There was the funny old man from the church." "Mr. Carlton?" "Yes." "So _he_ came to see you?" "Yes, he often. I love him," Georgie announced with emphasis; "he makes lovely, lovely, _lovely_ faces!" "And does he ever come now?" "No, not now, course he doesn't; he's too busy buildin' his church." "So he's building still!" "Yes, 'cos he builds wery nicely," Georgie was pleased to say; "better'n me, he builds, far better'n me." "And is he still alone?" "All alone," said Georgie; "all alonypony by his own little self!" And the inconsequent nonsense sent him off into untimely laughter, louder and more uproarious than ever, quite a virile guffaw. But Gwynneth could not even smile. And now when neither listening to Georgie nor haunted by her engagement, Gwynneth began to think of the lonely outcast behind those trees, as she had begun indeed to think of him the spring before last, while her mind and life were yet unfilled by the motley interests which this last year had brought into both.