His blue eyes swept the girl's slim, supple figure as she lay in the hammock with a long, raking glance that missed nothing and then came back to her face. "If I answered that question truthfully you'd pretend to be offended," he said. "I shouldn't pretend--anything," she retorted. "Please tell me why you're here." "Oh, that's quite a different proposition! I can answer that one. I'm here as the emissary of my respected Aunt Susan." "Lady Susan?" "Yes. We've just walked over from White Windows, and when we arrived and found you were out, and that the delightful old Devonshire party who opened the door to us could supply no recent data concerning your whereabouts, Aunt Susan collapsed into a comfortable chair and sent me to spy out the land." Ann sprang up out of the hammock. "How good of her to have walked over in all this heat!" she said, preparing to lead the way back to the house. "It was my doing," he replied with an air of complacency, as they walked on together. "I only arrived yesterday and she talked so much about you that I was consumed with a quite pardonable anxiety to meet you." "I hope you found it worth the three-mile walk," commented Ann dryly. "Oh, quite," he returned with conviction. "I always like making new friends." The cool assurance of the assertion annoyed her. "We've hardly got to that stage yet," she observed distantly. "No. But we shall do"--confidently. "Perhaps further than that, ultimately." She threw him a quick glance and encountered his eyes fixed on her with a kind of gay bravado--like that of a small boy experimenting how far he dare go. It irritated her--this sanguine assumption of his that he was going to count for something in her life. She walked on more quickly. "Aren't you rather a conceited person?" she asked mildly. "I'd prefer to call it having decided ideas," he returned. "Well, you must know you can't force your ideas on other people." "Can't I?" He halted in the middle of the path and faced her. "Do you really think that?" Ann avoided meeting his glance, but she felt it playing over her like lightning over a summer sky. It was as though he had flung down a challenge and dared her to pick it up. She temporised. "Do I think--what? I've almost forgotten what we were talking about." "No, you haven't," he returned bluntly. "You're merely evading the question--as every woman does when she's afraid to answer." "I'm not afraid!" exclaimed Ann indignantly. "I certainly shouldn't be afraid of you," she added, emphasising the final pronoun pointedly. "Shouldn't you?" He looked down at her with an odd intentness. "Do you know, I think I should rather like to make you--afraid of me."