Having made up his mind as to his immediate course of action, Westerham thought no more about the matter. It was not his habit to think what he should say when he met a certain man or a certain woman. He believed in the inspiration of the moment; and his inspiration was seldom wrong. About four o'clock the chauffeur informed him that they were nearing Trant Hall, and then it occurred to Westerham that it might possibly be unwise to make too bold an entry into the grounds. In consequence he stopped at the lodge and inquired for Lady Kathleen. Her ladyship, he was told, had not many minutes before called there herself. She was believed to be now on her way to the deer park. Having asked where this lay, Westerham got out of the car and proceeded on foot down the leafy avenue. At the end of the avenue there was a high wall, in which there was a break. A flight of stone steps led up to the break, and these he climbed. On the top he paused, being struck by the remarkable beauty of the scene. For from the wall the green turf sloped downwards, while before him and on either side stretched a magnificent forest of giant beech trees. He had taken the precaution to inquire whether it were possible for Lady Kathleen to return from the deer park by any other route, and had received an answer in the negative. Therefore he decided it would be waste of time for him to go in search of her, seeing that she must come back by the same way. Meanwhile he sat down on the top of the steps, and, lighting a cigarette, gave himself over to patient waiting. Some thirty minutes passed before he caught a glimpse of a moving figure amid some distant trees. The figure grew in size and in distinctness of outline, and then he saw Lady Kathleen coming slowly towards him. Her face was bent on the ground, and her whole figure seemed for the moment old and bowed. Her appearance, indeed, gave him a little pang of sorrow. He realised that when she saw him she must suffer some slight shock. That, however, was inevitable, and so he sat waiting for her to raise her head. Presently, as she came nearer the wall, she lifted up her eyes, and a little cry escaped her lips as she saw Westerham sitting there. She stopped dead in her walk and stood still, holding her hand against her heart. Westerham knew that she must have time to recover before he spoke, so he merely removed his hat and, moving forward, stood bareheaded before her. A little of her old spirit came back to her as she looked up at him. There was almost a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, but whatever humour she might have felt at his appearance was drowned in her obvious anxiety. She might well have been angry with him, but she kept her sad composure. “Do you think,” she asked, with an appealing gesture of her hands, “it is quite fair to torment me in this way?” “You would not ask me that,” said Westerham, “if you did believe me to be an honest man.” She passed her hand rather wearily across her forehead.