So favourite a diversion at the end of his journey made Sniff run on more cheerily than his master could follow; for, although Anthony's old sanguine disposition to some extent asserted itself, a man does not go very happily to such an interview as lay before him. As the colour died out of the sky, everything looked dull, blank, uninviting: sodden grass clothed the hedges, the air was laden with a smell of crushed apples, a few yellow leaves hung on the scraggy moss-grown trees of the orchards, the ricks caught no gleams of sunshine, the farmyards were drearily prosaic. Until now, Anthony had hardly realised how he had grown to hate the road to Underham; even now he tried to believe that the unattractiveness lay in all these outward things. He pictured to himself the Bennetts' house, Ada coming forward with her pretty smiling face,--would it change?--would she care?--could it be possible that the next day he might be journeying away from Underham, free, unfettered? He went on thinking these thoughts until Underham itself was in sight, a few white cottages, the marshes, a canal, a bridge, and to the left red houses, black wharves, and a little confusion of shipping, all lying in the grey mist. There was another road joining that from Thorpe before it crossed the bridge, and two figures coming along under the trees Anthony glanced at carelessly, until they resolved themselves into Ada and Mr Warren. Ada looked almost frightened for a moment. She came up quickly, and laid her hand on Anthony's arm. "We could not have the carriage to-day, and I always get a headache if I stay at home all the afternoon, so I came for a walk. Isn't it odd that I should have first met Mr Warren, and then you?" "Very," said Anthony shortly. "He had been for a night to Stanton, and was just coming back." "It's a good day for a walk after the rain," said Mr Warren, in his turn. They were awkward little explanations, or might have been, if Anthony had been bent on another errand. As it was, after a momentary wrath at the man's impudence, his strongest sensation was that of discomfort at Ada's mark of affection. That they should be walking arm in arm towards her house was not the preamble he would have chosen to that which he had to say. Otherwise, it did not seem to him that he had any right to find fault with her. And he was too generous to admit the thought that he might use her own conduct as a weapon against her in the coming interview. He did not say much, because many things were in his mind, but his silence did not arise, as Ada and Mr Warren imagined, from displeasure with them. Ada quickly recovered herself, and wished Mr Warren a careless good-by. As they passed the rectory they met Mrs Featherly coming towards them, presenting the soles of her feet very visibly as she walked. "I understood you had a cold, Ada," she said. "I am surprised to see you out in the damp." "Have you a cold?" asked Anthony, when they were alone.