"Oh, Mrs. Ivimey," said Harry, pointing. "That’s a mile and more away over there. I’m afraid you can’t have much sense of direction." They both laughed at that. It seemed the most natural thing for them to talk and laugh together. The secluded life that Harry had lived had brought some shyness into the way he addressed himself to strangers, though his natural manner was free and open. But this girl, walking freely over the windy moor, seemed to be in some way allied to those living influences of nature with which his contact was so real. And the spirit of youth informed all her looks and her ways and met the answering youth in him. There was no room for shyness in speaking to her, and as he neither felt nor showed it, her response was frank, too. "I’m a Londoner," she said. "You couldn’t expect me to find my way about here, where the paths wind about anyhow, and everything is the same." He was walking beside her now in the direction he had pointed out. He had made no offer to accompany her and she made no comment upon his doing so. It seemed that they must have a great deal to say to one another and that the best way was to walk together until some of it at least should have been said. "Everything the same!" exclaimed Harry. "Why, every inch of it is different! I have never been to London, but the streets of a town must be much more alike than this is." They laughed again at that, and the girl threw a glance at him, walking by her side, while Circe, held by his strong brown hand, curveted on the close turf and the dogs ranged here and there, a little subdued from their bounding energy, but still keenly interested in all that lay about them. The raindrops sparkled still upon gorse and grass and bramble, larks sang in the clear spaces of the sky, and the dying wind brought a salty thymy fragrance with it. The blood in the veins thrilled to the sweet glad freshness of it all, and youth called to youth as they trod the springy turf together. There was such a lot to be explained. Everything that was said opened up endless more things to be said. He told her that he had lived all his life at Royd; she told him that she had seldom been away from London. But, whereas he showed himself quite content with the unusual limitations of his life, she spoke of hers with regret. "I’ve always wanted the country," she said; "I’ve never been so happy as I have been here, for the last two days. Even the storm this morning, I didn’t mind. It was something big and grand, and I knew the sun would shine and it would all be lovely again." They talked on and on. They had made friends, as children make friends, liking each other, and pouring themselves out in endless little confidences. "My name is Harry Brent. I live at Royd Castle with my mother and grandmother." "Oh yes, of course; you’re Sir Harry Brent. Mrs. Ivimey has talked about you.