He hesitated a moment when he came to the house. The servants might know who he was and not allow him in, or he might be seen by some of the family. It struck him that he had better go and look for her in the park before risking himself on the doorstep. She had once told him that she often wandered among the pines. He slipped round behind the lodge, and was skirting the lawn at the back of the house, when he saw one of the French windows open and a girl come out with her dog. His heart gave a suffocating leap, and something seemed to rise in his throat and stay there, making him gulp idiotically. He had never before felt any emotion at the sight of her--just pleasure, a calm, slow-moving comfort. But to-day his head swam, and he could hardly see her as she came running and skipping across the lawn in a manner wholly at variance with her long skirts and coiled-up hair. She turned aside before she reached the bushes that hid him, and he just managed to call after her-- "Tony!--Tony!" The dog barked, and the next minute had scented him, and came cantering over the grass. Tony stood still and listened. She looked uncertain, and he called again-- "Tony!" She turned quickly, and slipped behind the bushes, running to him along the path. When she was a few yards off she stopped dead. "Mr. Furlonger...." She stood outlined against a patch of wintry sky. It was the first time that he had seen her since her return. He thought that she was paler than in the valiant days of their friendship, and certainly the way she did her hair gave her a grown-up look. The stifling sensation in his throat became worse, and he could not speak. "What is it ... Mr. Furlonger?" "I--I want to speak to you." "Oh, no! I can't!" Her voice was quite childish. "I must--please do." She hesitated a moment. "Then come into the shrubbery. We can be seen here from the house." "I know. I'm not here to get you into trouble. I--I only came to say good-bye." "Good-bye," she repeated vaguely, not quite understanding him, for her heart had said good-bye to him long ago. "Yes--I'm going to London." They were walking away from the house to where the pine-needles were thick under their feet--on a little, moist path smelling of winter. The sunshine came slanting down on Tony as she stopped, showing up her slim, strong figure in a cold purity of light. It rested on her hair, and he saw golden threads in it--in her eyes, and he saw golden sparks in them. For the first time he realised how beautiful she was in all the assurance and unconsciousness of her youth. He longed to tell her so. Instead he muttered-- "How grown-up you look." "Do I?--it's my hair, I suppose." "Did they make you put it up?" "Aunt Maggie said I was old enough--and I think so too." "I hope you don't mind my coming here to see you." He was desperately embarrassed, and her manner did not reassure him. "I'm going away, you see, to study music, and I--I thought I should like to say good-bye."