With the arrival of breakfast the girl drew her chair nearer the table, and served the omelette and passed his plate across to Hallam; assisting him unobtrusively, because of the shaking of his hands and his pitiful consciousness of it. The sight of those nervous unsteady hands hurt her. She was always painfully aware of them and keenly anxious to conceal the fact. She observed that the man endeavoured to control their trembling, and that his inability to do so distressed him. He bent low over his plate. It was this habit of bending over his meals and of looking down when he walked which caused the stoop of the shoulders, giving him an appearance of ill health. While she ate and attended to his needs and her own she wondered about him. What could be the secret of his downfall? Life had been generous to him in some respects; possibly in other, more important matters, it had treated him ill. She continued her study of him while she sat at the little table opposite to him and watched the sunlight slowly encroaching on the patch of shade in which they breakfasted. Before they had finished their meal it had reached Hallam, dividing them like a curtain of fire which wrapped him about in its radiant warmth and left her in the shadows. "Hadn't you better move your seat?" she suggested. "The sun strikes on your head." He got up, dragged his chair nearer to hers, and sat down again. Their chairs were side by side now. She leaned back in hers and smiled at him. "This is infinitely pleasanter than breakfasting at a long table among a crowd. They will wonder at the hotel what has become of me." "They will certainly never suppose that you are in my company," he said. "Why not?" A dry smile twisted his lips. He scrutinised her for a brief moment, and then answered abruptly: "They wouldn't credit the possibility of my inviting you to come." "You didn't," she answered, and laughed with amusement. The laugh was infectious; Hallam joined in it. "I wish you hadn't such an awkward memory for blunt facts," he said. "I know I was abominably rude. I am always rude. As a rule that doesn't trouble me; but in your case I regret my lack of manners." "I did not notice it," she replied. "I think perhaps I was preoccupied with the lack of manners betrayed on my part. You must think me rather pushing." Again he smiled dryly, but in the keen eyes shone a kindly look. "One day, if it will interest you to hear it," he said, "I will tell you what I think of you. But at the moment I do not feel equal to so much frankness. If you have finished breakfast, let me carry your chair into the shade of the trees. Since there is no one to whom your absence will cause anxiety we will suit our own convenience as to the time of our return." Book 1--CHAPTER NINE.