The two or three guests at the hotel who witnessed Esme's return in the company of Hallam were filled with amazement at the unusual spectacle of the man who was never known to associate with any one, walking beside the girl and carrying her coat across his shoulder, with an air of being on perfectly friendly terms with his companion and with himself. The two were laughing when they neared the gate; but the man's expression settled into its habitual boredom as he followed the girl up the path and mounted the steps on to the stoep. He removed the coat from his shoulder and handed it to her with a brief smile. "I have enjoyed my walk," he said. "Thank you." "Thank _you_ for taking me," she answered, conscious of the curious eyes observing her. "I have enjoyed it also." Then she went inside. Hallam waited for a minute or two before entering, the hotel, while the people on the stoep watched him, puzzled and immensely interested in these proceedings. He did not appear to notice them; and presently he went in, and the restraint which his presence always imposed on the rest relaxed perceptibly. They started to discuss him, to deplore his friendship with the girl; they pondered the question whether it was the particular duty of any one to warn her against pursuing the acquaintance: every one thought that she ought to be warned; but no one volunteered to undertake this friendly office; they were all a little in awe of the man of whom they disapproved. Esme went to her room with the intention of remaining there and writing letters until lunch time. She was tired and wanted to rest. But while she sat at her window with her writing materials on her knee she saw Sinclair approaching from the direction of the garden beyond the kei-apple hedge. She remembered that he was leaving that morning. The early walk, and her pleasure in it, had caused her to forget. He strolled as far as the vley, and stood by the edge, moodily kicking little stones into the water. He looked up and saw her at the window and looked away again, making pretence that he did not know she was there. She leaned out and spoke to him. "Isn't it a perfectly wonderful day?" she called softly. "Is it?" he said, and came towards her slowly, frowning, and with his hands in his pockets. "It's much like any other day, I think." He leaned with his shoulder against the wall of the house, and regarded her with sulky reproach as she sat on the low sill, facing him, smiling into the hurt boyish eyes. She liked him, and he was going away. She decided to ignore his irritable mood. "It's the finish of your holiday," she said, "and you are sorry. In a fortnight's time my holiday will have ended. I, too, shall regret leaving this place." "It is not the place I mind leaving; it's dull enough," he said ungraciously. "There is nothing to do except moon around. Where did you have breakfast this morning?" "At a little house along the road. I went to see the sun rise."