By the pose of her head and the lines of her figure he at once recognised Florella Vyner, and as he came near she saw him, and rising, answered his greeting with a smile as he dismounted beside her. "I have ridden over," said Guy, "with a message from Mrs Joshua Palmer, to ask if your sister still cares to show Ingleby Mills to her friends. My aunt and my brother are at Waynflete, but I have been left behind. And I hope, too, that Moorhead is satisfactory?" "Oh yes," said Florella, "we are delighted with it. It suits us quite. The others are all very near by. Would you like to take your horse to the farm, and then come and join us? You will see them a few steps further on." "There's Bill Shipley," said Guy, looking up the road. "I'll ask him to take Stella." He came back after giving his horse to the boy, with a brighter and sweeter look on his face than it often wore. "May I look first at the drawing? What have you found out about the moor flowers?" "Oh, they are so difficult--look at those harebells on the top of the road, swinging about in the wind--blue against blue. It is such heavenly colour. But I can't paint them! I haven't begun to try. I'm seeing them!" "I see," said Guy. "Yes, the sky seems to show through. But what do they say? Your pictures all say something. Are they moor spirits?" "Well," she said, "I don't think I quite know. But what I want to say is `living blue,'--you know the hymn?-- "`Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood All dressed in living green.' "That gives one such a feeling of spring." "Yes," said Guy, "things growing. And `living blue'?" "Well," said Florella, looking up at the harebells, "I think it must mean thoughts--spirit, soul, growing and springing, perhaps. They are so very ethereal!" Florella had much of Constancy's self-possession. In her it showed in a calm simplicity of manner, absolutely without effort or constraint. Guy forgot himself also, for him a rare pleasure. "I see," he said, "I hope you'll get them done." "But they _shine_ so," she said; "one can't make them glisten. And the heather is very difficult, too. But that I have tried." She showed her sketch-book, containing more flower studies and a few landscapes. "I should like to sketch," said Guy, as he looked, and made a few comments. "But you could, I think, because you can see. And it is very interesting. It is impossible to think of anything in the world but the thing you are drawing. That is all I have. My sister and all of them are just behind the harebell rock--shall we come?" Guy followed, and in a few minutes they were looking down on a cheery group gathered in a hollow of the ground--five skirts and hats among the heather. One or two little puffs of steam showed where the sophisticated "Etnas" were boiling the water, and in the midst Constancy, in a red blouse and brown cap, was evidently concluding an argument.