“Good-bye, my dear,” said Mrs. Peyton to Olivia, _sotto voce_. “Don’t be left at the meeting of the ways.” “No, I won’t, I promise you,” replied Olivia. Off they started. Madame Koller moved with the grace of a fairy in a drawing-room, but on a country road, holding a sunshade in one hand and her gown in the other, it was a promenade rather than a walk. Olivia walked with the easy step of a girl country born and country bred, and albeit it was a little more than a saunter, she soon walked Madame Koller out of breath. Pembroke had but little share in the conversation. Except a laughing reference to him occasionally, he was left out, and had full opportunity to compare the two women--which he did with an amused smile. Compliments were plenty from Madame Koller, which Olivia deftly parried or ignored. In a little while the turning was in sight where both left the high road, and a path in one direction led to Isleham, and in another, gave a short cut to The Beeches. Pembroke was beginning to apprehend an awkward predicament for himself as to which one of the ladies he should accompany, when Olivia cut the knot. “Here I must leave you--good-bye, Madame Koller, I shall see you during the week--good-bye--” to Pembroke. “There is Madame Koller’s carriage in sight,” remarked Pembroke, thinking that offered a solution of the problem--to which Olivia only responded pleasantly--“Good-bye--good-bye--” and tripped off. Madame Koller looked rather foolish--she had been outgeneraled completely. “There is your carriage,” again said Pembroke, this time looking straight at her. “Yes. I know it. You will soon be rid of me.” As she spoke her eyes filled with real tears of mortification. Pembroke was a man, and he could not see this, and be as hard as he meant to be. Nevertheless, he did not intend to walk through the field with Madame Koller. “Come, Elise,” he said. “The way is too long for you. You are no walker. It would be best for you to drive home.” “When you call me Elise I will do anything for you,” she said--and she was really tired and hated walking for walking’s sake. The carriage drew up, and Pembroke put her in carefully. Old Madame Schmidt said: “That is right, Eliza,” and they drove off. A few yards hid him from their sight, and at that instant he struck out in the path to Isleham. In ten minutes he had overtaken Olivia. She was surprised to see him. “What have you done with Madame Koller?” “Put her in the carriage and sent her home.” A faint flush crept into Olivia’s cheeks. “I have wanted to ask you something for a week or two,” she said, “but this is my first opportunity. You know that poor negro, Bob Henry, who is to be tried for murder--I believe he belonged to you, didn’t he?” “Yes.”