“Ah, but how?” sighed Peggy faintly. “But how?” Vague prophecies of the future were not much comfort to her in this moment of farewell. She wanted something more definite, but Rob had no time to enter into details. Even as she spoke the carriage drew up beside them, and while the occupants congratulated Peggy on having walked so far and so well, he could only grip her hand, and take his place in silence beside his sister. Lady Darcy bent forward to smile farewell; Rosalind waved her hand, and there they were off again, driving swiftly homewards, while Peggy stood watching, a solitary figure upon the roadside. Arthur and his companions hurried forward to join her, afraid lest she should be tired and overcome with grief by the parting with her friend and partner. “Poor little Peg! She won’t like it a bit,” said Arthur. “She’s crying! I’m sure she is.” “She is putting her handkerchief to her eyes,” said Mellicent. “Of course, she is crying!” “We will give her an arm apiece, and take her straight back,” said Max anxiously, “It’s a shame to have left the poor little soul alone!” They stared with troubled eyes at the little figure which stood with its back turned towards them, in an attitude of rigid stillness. There was something pathetic about that stillness, with just the flutter of the tell-tale handkerchief to hint at the quivering face that was hidden from view. The hearts of Peggy’s companions were very tender over her at that moment, but even as they planned words of comfort and cheer, she wheeled round suddenly and walked back to meet them. It was an unusually mild morning for the season of the year, and the sun was shining from a cloudless sky. Its rays fell full upon Peggy’s face as she advanced; upon reddened eyes, trembling lips, and two large tears trickling down her cheeks. It was undeniable that she was crying, but she carried her head well back upon her shoulders, rather courting than avoiding observation, and as she drew nearer it became abundantly evident that Peggy had retired in honour of Mariquita, and that consolations had better be deferred to a more promising occasion. “A most lacerating wind!” she said coolly. “It draws the moisture to my eyes. Quite piercingly cold I call it!” and even Mellicent had not the courage to contradict. * * * * *