What was there in such speeches as these to draw any two nearer and nearer to each other as they walked side by side--to fill the morning air with an intensity of life, to seem to cause the world to drop away and become as nothing? As they had been isolated during their waltz in the crowded ballroom at Dunholm Castle, so they were isolated now. When they stood in the narrow green groves of the hop garden, talking simply of the placing of the bins and the stripping and measuring of the vines, there might have been no human thing within a hundred miles--within a thousand. For the first time his height and strength conveyed to her an impression of physical beauty. His walk and bearing gave her pleasure. When he turned his red-brown eyes upon her suddenly she was conscious that she liked their colour, their shape, the power of the look in them. On his part, he--for the twentieth time--found himself newly moved by the dower nature had bestowed on her. Had the world ever held before a woman creature so much to be longed for?--abnormal wealth, New York and Fifth Avenue notwithstanding, a man could only think of folding arms round her and whispering in her lovely ear--follies, oaths, prayers, gratitude. And yet as they went about together there was growing in Betty Vanderpoel's mind a certain realisation. It grew in spite of the recognition of the change in him--the new thing lighted in his eyes. Whatsoever he felt--if he felt anything--he would never allow himself speech. How could he? In his place she could not speak herself. Because he was the strong thing which drew her thoughts, he would not come to any woman only to cast at her feet a burden which, in the nature of things, she must take up. And suddenly she comprehended that the mere obstinate Briton in him--even apart from greater things--had an immense attraction for her. As she liked now the red-brown colour of his eyes and saw beauty in his rugged features, so she liked his British stubbornness and the pride which would not be beaten. “It is the unconquerable thing, which leads them in their battles and makes them bear any horror rather than give in. They have taken half the world with it; they are like bulldogs and lions,” she thought. “And--and I am glorying in it.” “Do you know,” said Mount Dunstan, “that sometimes you suddenly fling out the most magnificent flag of colour--as if some splendid flame of thought had sent up a blaze?” “I hope it is not a habit,” she answered. “When one has a splendid flare of thought one should be modest about it.” What was there worth recording in the whole hour they spent together? Outwardly there had only been a chance meeting and a mere passing by. But each left something with the other and each learned something; and the record made was deep. At last she was on her horse again, on the road outside the white gate.