Of what might have passed Hester could only, yet readily, guess; her heart was full of aching thoughts--full well-nigh to bursting at times--when the pair returned, silent apparently, very happy too, and inclined to converse more with their eyes than their lips; and singular to say, that of the sylvan scenery of that wonderful glen, and of the ruined abode of the whilom Dukes of Oldenburg and Princes of Orkney, Annot Drummond seemed to have seen or noted--nothing; and a sense of this, with what it implied, added to the secret mortification of Hester. Thus, despite herself, that evening at dinner the latter failed to act a part, and scarcely spoke, but seemed to play with her knife and fork rather than eat; and fortunately no one observed her, save perhaps her father. She was painfully listless, yet nervously observant. Had Roland Lindsay's thoughts not been elsewhere he must have seen how already the change in her looks was intensified by the brilliance, the sparkling eyes, and the soft, gay laughter of Annot, and how, when she did speak, she nervously twisted her rings round and round her slender fingers, seeming restless and _distraite_. A charming girl was certainly no novelty to Roland; nor did he now regard one--as in his boyhood--as a strange and mystic being to worship. He knew girls pretty well, he thought, also their ways and pretty tricks, their fascinations and little artifices; yet those of Annot--and she was a mass of them--assuredly did bewilder him and attract his fancy, though he only admitted to Hester that she was as 'fashionably appointed and well-got-up a girl as could be found within a three-mile radius of Park Lane.' She was indeed full of sweet and winning--if cultivated--ways. The inflexions of her voice were very sympathetic, and the ever-varying expression of her bright hazel eyes--albeit they were 'dashed' with green--added to her fascination and influence; whilst she had a childish and pleading way of putting her lovely white hands together when she asked for anything that--as old Sir Henry said--'would melt the heart of a cannon-ball.' Then, with regard to Roland, she was always asking his advice about some petty trifle or book (though she was not a reader), and deferred to his opinion so sweetly that she gave him a higher idea of his own intellect than he had ever possessed before; for she had all the subtle finesse of flattery and flirtation, without seeming to possess or exert either; and thus poor Hester was--to use a sporting phrase--'quite out of the running.' One night the latter had a new insight into her cousin's character, though Annot now never spoke, nor could be got to speak, if possible, of Roland Lindsay.