As he went into the house, he passed Henry and several of the men busily discussing the condition of the Yeomanry, and the Relief Fund that was doing such excellent work. Here Henry proved himself of worth—of his interest in the work there could be no doubt. As Lady Elizabeth stood alone in the garden, she was conscious that her recent interviews with Jim had been most unsatisfactory. He had a way of not taking the traditions of her life seriously; he discussed and dismissed them lightly. She knew that Henry would be annoyed at Jim’s indifference to this fortune within his grasp, and she suspected that there was a cause unknown to her for Henry’s nervous and upset condition. She had no inclination to return to the dance; instead, she crossed to the seat under the great oak-tree, and drew her lace scarf close about her. The garden was quite empty. In the distance the yew-trees, like a line of ghostly, fantastic figures, seemed pregnant with sinister forebodings. She shivered; it was growing slightly cold. She could hear the dancers, and from the card-players in the house came sounds of more life and mirth. Her recent desire to be alone deserted her—the living warmth of the life of the crowds within her reach attracted her. The sadness of the moaning wind in the trees she could dispel by returning to her guests—she would do so and assist Diana in her duties. As she started to leave the rose enclosure, Henry with Sir John came through the open casement. She noticed the strained look on Henry’s face as he said, "No, no, I haven’t done it yet. But we’ll prepare a statement in good time—leave it to me. I’m getting tired of the word Fund—the demands of the work have been so incessant." They reached Lady Elizabeth. Henry’s look quickly told her that he wished to be alone. She came to his assistance as she said: "Don’t you believe him, Sir John. He really thinks of nothing else. But won’t you join the dancers? I’m sure Diana will need you." Henry quickly added, "Do, and forget the Fund for a moment." As Sir John disappeared he muttered, "And let _me_ forget it." Lady Elizabeth heard the last words and wondered. The ugly horns on his brows showed the irritable state of his mind. "Well," he quietly said, "what did Jim say to the American widow? It isn’t often that a man without a title gets a chance like that." There was a moment’s silence. Lady Elizabeth would have preferred to have this conversation at another time; her mind was anxious about Henry’s recent words—what did they forebode? But Henry settled himself in a big chair, and she saw that he was anxious to learn the result of her interview with Jim. "He declines positively," she answered. Then the passion he had been fighting to keep under broke loose. He rose and began pacing the walk.