The old lady leant back in her chair, placed her hands on its arms and softly panted, while out of the rather broad serenity of her face she sat blinking up at her companion as if after a long talk, instead of at the beginning of one. ‘No,’ she repeated reflectively, ‘I don’t like your looks at all; yet here we are, enjoying beautiful autumn weather, Mr Lawford, why not make use of it?’ ‘Oh yes,’ said Lawford, ‘I do. I have been making tremendous use of it.’ Her eyelid flickered at his candid glance. ‘And does your business permit of much walking?’ ‘Well, I’ve been malingering these last few days idling at home; but I am usually more or less my own man, Miss Sinnet. I walk a little.’ ‘H’m, but not much in my direction, Mr Lawford?’ she quizzed him. ‘All horrible indolence, Miss Sinnet. But I often—often think of you; and especially just lately.’ ‘Well, now,’ she wriggled round her head to get a better view of him rather stiffly seated on his chair, ‘that’s very peculiar; because I too have been thinking lately a great deal of you. And yet—I fancy I shall succeed in mystifying you presently—not precisely of you, but of somebody else!’ ‘You do mystify me—“somebody else”!’ he replied gallantly. ‘And that is the story, I suppose?’ ‘That’s the story,’ repeated Miss Sinnet with some little triumph. ‘Now, let me see; it was on Saturday last—yes, Saturday evening; a wonderful sunset; Bewley Heath.’ ‘Oh yes; my daughter’s favourite walk.’ ‘And your daughter’s age now?’ ‘She’s nearly sixteen; Alice, you know.’ ‘Ah, yes, Alice; to be sure. It _is_ a beautiful walk, and if fine, I generally take mine there too. It’s near; there’s shade; it’s very little frequented; and I can wander and muse undisturbed. And that I think is pretty well all that an old woman like me is fit for, Mr Lawford. “Nearly sixteen!” Is it possible? Dear, dear me? But let me get on. On my way home from the Heath, you may be aware, before one reaches the road again, there’s a somewhat steep ascent. I haven’t the strength I had, and whether I’m fatigued or not, I have always made it a rule to rest awhile on a most convenient little seat at the summit, admire the view—what I can see of it—and then make my way quietly, quietly home. On Saturday, however, and it most rarely occurs—once, I remember, when a very civil nursemaid was sitting with two charmingly behaved little children in the sunshine, and I heard they were my old friend Major Loder’s _son’s_ children—on Saturday, as I was saying, my own particular little haunt was already occupied.’ She glanced back at him from out of her thoughts, as it were. ‘By a gentleman. I say, gentleman; though I must confess that his conduct—perhaps, too, a little something even in his appearance, somewhat belied the term. Anyhow, gentleman let us call him.’ Lawford, all attention, nodded, and encouragingly smiled.