Cummins is an ancient Scotchman, old, crusty, and valuable, who has lived as head gardener at Strangemore for more years than he can remember, and who has grown sour in the Carrington service. Having made himself more than usually obnoxious to-day, and declined to part with some treasured article of his rearing for any one's benefit, the cook has tearfully appealed to me, and I have promised to exert myself and coax my own gardener into giving me some of my own property. Throwing round me, therefore, a cosy shawl, fur-lined, and covering my head with the warmest velvet hat I own, I sally forth, bent on conquest. The air is keen and frost-bitten. As I hurry along one of the smaller paths, hedged in on either side by giant evergreens, with my chin well buried in my fur, I come suddenly upon Sir Mark Gore, leisurely strolling, and smoking a cigar. Ever since my explanation with Marmaduke I have carefully avoided Sir Mark. Not once has he had an opportunity of speaking with me alone. Not once have I suffered him to draw me into personal conversation. Consequently, I am doubly put out and annoyed by this rencontre--conscience telling me he cares more for me than is at all to be desired. Seeing me, he flings the cigar over the hedge and comes more quickly forward. "Oh, don't do that," I say, as unconcernedly as I well can; "you have recklessly wasted a good cigar. I am in a desperate hurry, and cannot stay to interfere with your smoking." "It is the simplest thing in the world to light another," replied he, coolly. "But what a day for you to be out! I heard you say at lunch you meant going, but felt positive this bitter wind would daunt you. May I accompany you in your desperate hurry? Is it an errand of mercy--a case of life or death?" His easy manner reassures me. "I am going to entreat Cummins," I say, laughing. "Don't you pity me? Cannot you understand what a difficult task I have laid out for myself? No, I think you had better not come. I shall be able to use more persuasive arts if left to deal with him alone." "I would back you to win were he the King of the Cannibal Islands himself. If I must not witness your triumph, may I at least be your escort on the road to it?" I can see he is obstinately bent on being my companion, and grow once more disquieted. "Ye-es, if you wish it," I say, with obvious unwillingness; "but it is such a little way now it scarcely seems worth your while." "I think it very well worth my while, and accept your _gracious_ permission," replies Sir Mark, with a quiet stress on the adjective, and a determination not to notice my evident objection to his company. So there is no help for it, and we walk on side by side in silence. Presently, in a low voice, he says, suddenly and without preface:--- "Why do you avoid me, Mrs. Carrington? What have I done to be tabooed as I have been for the last two days? Have I offended you in any way?"