“It does seem funny that you are here at last!” she said, when seated beside him with the reins in her hand. “It does indeed!” answered Paul, with a suspicion that he was a villain and ought to be kicked. For a moment he scowled and bit his mustache, hesitating whether to make a clean breast of the deception or continue in the role he had assumed. Alas, it was no longer of his choosing. He had commenced with a lie, which he now found it impossible to repudiate. No, he could not insult this girl by telling her the truth. That surely was out of the question. Miss Guir touched the horse with the whip, and the station was soon out of sight. They ascended a long hill with gullies, bordered by worm fences and half-cultivated fields. Such improvements as there were appeared in a state of decay, and, so far as Henley could see, the country was uninhabited. Presently the road entered a wood and became carpeted with pine tags, over which they trotted noiselessly. Where were they going? Dorothy had not spoken since starting, and Paul was too much disconcerted to continue the conversation. He hoped she would speak first, and yet dreaded anything which it seemed at all probable she would say. The novelty was intense, but the agony was growing. At last, without looking at him, she said: “You haven't told me why you never answered my last letter. You know we have been expecting you for ages.” Paul coughed, hesitated, and then resolved to tell a part of the truth, which is often more misleading than the blackest lie. “I--I did not get it,” he answered, “until a day or two ago.” Miss Dorothy looked surprised. “Strange!” she said; “but, after all, I had my misgivings, for I never could believe that a letter like that would reach its destination. But you know you told me--” “Yes, I know I did,” interrupted Paul. “You were perfectly right. You see I got it at last, and 'all's well that ends well!'” “Not necessarily; because if you are as careless about other matters as this, why--I may have--that is, _we_ may have to part before really knowing each other, and do you know, _I_ should be awfully sorry for that.” Although she laughed a quick, nervous laugh, the words were uttered as if really meant. Paul suffered, and tried to think of something non-committal--something which, while not exposing his ignorance of the real Henley's business, might induce the girl to explain the situation; but no leading question presented itself. He thought he could be happy if he could but divert the conversation from its present awkward drift.