Lady Maria’s parasol, which was seen advancing in the distance between the laurel bushes, put an end to further confidences, for Lady Maria’s eyes, round enough and blue enough to satisfy anybody, had discovered the brother and sister and she was coming towards them. Crauford, having been absent from the breakfast table, had not met the young lady that morning. He made a stiff, serio-comic bow, laying his hand on his heart. He could unbend sometimes. ‘I hope your ladyship is well to-day,’ he observed. She blushed awkwardly, not knowing how to take his pleasantries. She looked good and modest, and, in feature, rather as if she had changed faces with a pea-hen. Agneta surveyed her from head to heel, earnestly and covertly; she did not look as if she would drive anyone to Spain. She was rather impressed by the idea of a sister-in-law who could so ruffle her brother and his sex, for, though she was over twenty-six years old, she had only read of such things in books; she had an overwhelming respect for men, and it had scarcely occurred to her that women whom one might meet every day, and who were not constitutionally wicked, could deal with them so high-handedly. The possibilities of womanhood had never dawned on her, any more than they dawn on hundreds of others, both well and ill-favoured, who live contentedly, marry early, have children frequently, and, finally, die lamented, knowing as much of the enthralling trade of being a woman as they did on the day they were born. But Agneta was groping along the edge of a world of strange discoveries, as she stood by the bowling-green and mechanically watched the figures of her father and the Reverend Samuel Mackay straddling as they appraised their shots. Crauford and Lady Maria had long vanished into the house by the time she turned to look after them, and the bowl-players had finished their game, discussed it, and begun another. She felt that being in her brother’s confidence had given her a great stride in life. Four months later, she stood in the same place by the bowling-green and saw him drive up the avenue to the Castle; he had been at Fullarton for nearly a week and she went round to the front door to meet him. ‘My news is important, Agneta,’ he said, as he greeted her. ‘Miss Raeburn has consented; I have come to fetch some clothes I want and am going away again to-morrow. Say nothing.’ ‘Oh!’ said his sister. ‘I----’ The sentence was never completed, for Lady Fordyce appeared in the hall. CHAPTER XXIII AN EMPTY HOUSE