Beyond the kennels he caught a distant glimpse of blue water glimmering between tall hemlock trees; so he took the lake path and presently rounded a sharp curve where a rustic bench stood, perched high above the rocky shore. Strelsa Leeds, seated there, looked up from the newspaper which she had been reading. Some of the colour faded from her cheeks. There was a second's silence, then, as though a little bewildered, she looked inquiringly into his smiling eyes and extended her hand toward the hand he offered. "I didn't know you were coming," she said with pallid self-possession. "I telegraphed for permission. Is your headache better?" "Yes. Have you just arrived?" "A little while ago. I was told to wander about and enjoy the Wycherlys' new ancestral palace. Does a ghost go with the place? You're rather pale, Mrs. Leeds. Have they engaged you as the family phantom?" She laughed a little, then her gray eyes grew sombre; and, watching, he saw the dusky purple hue deepen in them under the downward sweep of the lashes. [Illustration: "So he took the lake path and presently rounded a sharp curve."] He waited for her to speak, and she did not. Her remote gaze rested on the lake where the base of the rocks fell away sheer into limpid depths; where green trees, reversed in untroubled reflection, tinted the still waters exquisitely, and bits of sky lay level as in a looking-glass. No fish broke the absolute stillness of the surface, no breeze ruffled it; only the glitter of some drifting dragon-fly accented the intense calm. "Are you--offended?" she said at last, her gaze now riveted on the water. "Of course not!" he replied cordially. She lifted her eyes, surveying him in silence. "Why did you suppose so?" he asked amiably. "Did you receive my letter?" "Of course I did." "You did not answer it." "I didn't know how--then." His reply seemed to perplex her--so did his light and effortless good-humour. "I know how to answer it now," he added. She forced a smile: "Isn't it too late to think of answering that letter, Mr. Quarren?" "Oh, no," he said pleasantly; "a man who is afraid of being too late seldom dares start.... I wonder if anything could induce you to ask me to be seated?" She flushed vividly and moved to the extreme edge of the seat. He took the other end, knocked the ashes from his pipe, and put it in his pocket. "Now," he said, smiling, "I am ready to answer your letter." "Really, Mr. Quarren----" "Don't you want me to?" "I--don't think--it matters, now----" "But it's only civil of me to answer it," he insisted, laughing.