Lois and her companion stopped on the summit of the hill to look at the rolling background of woods, brilliant still with their autumn coloring. The west wind had blown her hair into disorder, but it had blown also the color back into her cheeks. Her eyes were bright, and her laughter infectious. Her companion stooped down and passed his arm through hers, looking into her face admiringly.

“Lois,” he said, “this is the first day I have seen you like your old self. I can’t tell you how glad I am.”

She smiled.

“I wasn’t aware, Maurice,” she said, “that I have been very different. I have had headaches now and then, lately. Fancy having a headache an afternoon like this!” she added, throwing back her head once more, and breathing in the fresh, invigorating air.

“You ought to have seen a doctor,” her companion declared. “I told Lady Mary so the other day.”

“Rubbish!” Lois exclaimed, lightly.

“Nothing of the sort,” Captain Vandermere replied. “I was beginning to worry about you. I almost fancied——”

“Well?”

“It almost seemed,” he continued, a little awkwardly, “as though you had something on your mind. You seemed so queer every now and then, little girl,” he added, “I do hope that if there was anything bothering you, you’d tell me all about it. We’re old pals, you know.”

She laughed—not quite naturally.

“My dear Maurice,” she said, “of course there has been nothing of that sort the matter with me! What could I have on my mind?”

“No love affairs, eh?” he asked, stroking his fair moustache.

She shook her head thoughtfully.

“No!” she said. “No love affairs.”

He tightened his grasp upon her arm. He had an idea that he was being very diplomatic indeed. And Lady Mary had begged him to find out whatever was the matter with poor dear Lois!

“Well,” he said, “I am glad to hear it. To tell you the truth, I have been very jealous lately.”

“You jealous!” she exclaimed, mockingly.

“Fact, I assure you,” he answered.

“Captain Maurice Vandermere jealous!” she repeated, looking up at him with dancing eyes—“absolutely the most popular bachelor in London! And jealous of me, too!”

“Is that so very wonderful, Lois?” he asked. “We have been pretty good friends, you know.”

She felt his hand upon her arm, and she looked away.

“Yes,” she said, “we have been friends, only we haven’t seen much of one another the last month or so, have we?”

“It hasn’t been my fault,” he declared. “I really couldn’t get leave before, although I tried hard. I shouldn’t have been here now, to tell you the truth, Lois,” he went on, “but Lady Mary’s been frightening me a bit.”

“About me?” Lois asked.

“About you,” he assented.

“What has she been saying?”

“Well, nothing definite,” Captain Vandermere answered, “but of course you know she’s an awful good pal of mine, and she did write me a line or two about you. It seems there’s some young fellow been about down here whom she isn’t very stuck on, and she seemed to be afraid——”

“Well, go on,” Lois said calmly.

“Well, that he was making the running with you a bit,” Captain Vandermere declared, feeling that he was getting into rather deeper waters. “Of course, I don’t know anything about him, and I don’t want to say anything against anybody who is a friend of yours, but from all that I have heard he didn’t seem to me to be the sort of man I fancied for my little friend Lois to get—well, fond of.”

“So you decided to come down yourself,” Lois continued.

“I decided to come down and say something which I ought to have said some time ago,” Captain Vandermere continued, “only you see you are really only a child, and you’ve got a lot more money than I have, and you are not of age yet, so I thought I’d let it be for a bit. But you know I’m fond of you, Lois.”

“Are you?” she asked, artlessly.

“You must know that,” he continued, bending over her. “I wonder——”

“Are you aware that we are standing on the top of a hill,” Lois said, “and that everybody for a good many miles round has a perfectly clear view of us?”

“I don’t care where we are,” he declared. “I have got to go on now. Lois, will you marry me?”

“Is this a proposal?” She laughed nervously.

“Sounds like it,” he admitted.

She was silent for several moments. Into her eyes there had come something of that look which had sent Lady Mary into her room to write to Captain Vandermere, and bid him come without delay. The color had gone. She seemed suddenly older—tired.

“Oh, I don’t know!” she said. “I think I should like to, but I can’t!—no, I can’t!”

They began to descend the hill. He kept his arm in hers.

“Why not?” he asked. “Don’t you care for me?”

“I—I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t know whether I care for anybody. Wait, please. Don’t speak to me for several moments.”

Their path skirted the side of a ploughed field, and then through a little gate they passed into a long, straggling plantation. Directly she was under the shelter of the trees, she burst into tears.

“Don’t come near me,” she begged. “Leave me alone for a moment. I shall be better directly.”

He disregarded her bidding to the extent of placing his arm around her waist. He made no attempt, however, to draw her hands away from her face, or stop her tears.

“Little girl,” he said, “I knew that there was some trouble. It is there in your dear, innocent little face for anyone to see who cares enough about you to look. When you have dried those eyes, you must tell me all about it. Remember that even if you won’t have me for a husband, we are old enough friends for you to look upon me as an elder brother.”

She dried her eyes, and looked up at him with a hopeless little smile.

“You are a dear,” she said, “and I am very fond of you. I don’t know what’s happened to me—at least I do know, but I can’t tell anyone.”

“Is it,” he asked gravely, “that you care about this person?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” she answered. “I hope not. I don’t know, I’m sure. Sometimes I feel that I do, and sometimes, when I am sane, when I am in my right mind, I know that I do not. Maurice,” she begged, “help me. Please help me.”

His face cleared.

“I’ll help you right enough, little girl,” he answered. “Just listen to me. I’m not going to see you throw yourself away upon an outsider. Just remember that. On the other hand, I’m not going to bother you to death. Here I am by your side, and here I mean to stay. If that—no, I won’t call him names!” he said, stopping short in his sentence—“but if anyone tries to make you unhappy, well, I shall have something to say. Come along, let’s finish our walk. We’ll talk about something else if you like.”

She drew a little sigh of relief.

“You are a dear, Maurice,” she repeated. “Come along, we’ll go down the lane and over the hills home. I do feel safe, somehow, with you,” she added, impulsively. “You are not going away just yet, are you?”

“Not for a fortnight, at any rate,” he answered.

“And you won’t leave me alone?” she begged—“not even if I ask to be left alone? You see—I can’t make you understand—but I don’t even trust myself.”

He laughed reassuringly.

“I’ll look after you, never fear,” he answered. “I’ll be better than a watchdog. Tell me, what’s your handicap at golf now? We must have a game to-morrow.”

They walked down the lane, talking—in a somewhat subdued manner, perhaps, but easily enough—upon lighter subjects. And then at the corner, just as they had passed the entrance to Blackbird’s Nest, they came face to face with Saton. Vandermere felt her suddenly creep closer to him, as though for protection, and from his six feet odd of height, he frowned angrily at the young man with his hat in his hand preparing to accost them. Never was dislike more instinctive and hearty. Vandermere, an ordinarily intelligent but unimaginative Englishman, of the normally healthy type, a sportsman, a good fellow, and a man of breeding—and Saton, this strange product of strange circumstances, externally passable enough, but with something about him which seemed, even in that clear November sunshine, to suggest the footlights.

“You are quite a stranger, Miss Champneyes,” Saton said, taking her unresisting hand in his. “I hope that you are going in to see the Comtesse. Only this morning she told me that she was finding it appallingly lonely.”

“I—I wasn’t calling anywhere this afternoon,” Lois said timidly. “Captain Vandermere has come down to stay with us for a few days, and I was showing him the country. This is Mr. Saton—Captain Vandermere. I don’t know whether you remember him.”

The two men exchanged the briefest of greetings. Saton’s was civil enough. Vandermere’s was morose, almost discourteous.

“Let me persuade you to change your mind,” Saton said, speaking slowly, and with his eyes fixed upon Lois. “The Comtesse would be so disappointed if she knew that you had passed this way and had not entered.”

Vandermere was conscious that in some way the girl by his side was changed. She drew a little away from him.

“Very well,” she said, “I shall be pleased to go in and see her. You do not mind, Maurice?”

“Not at all,” he answered. “If I may be allowed, I will come with you.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Saton spoke—quietly, regretfully.

“I am so sorry,” he said, “but the Comtesse de Vestinges—my adopted mother,” he explained, with a little bow—“receives no one. She is old, and her health is not of the best. A visit from Miss Champneyes always does her good.”

Lois looked up at her companion.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you will have a cigarette in the lane.”

“I am sorry to seem inhospitable,” Saton said smoothly. “If Captain Vandermere will come up to the house, my study is at his service, and I can give him some cigarettes which I think he would find passable.”

“Thank you,” Vandermere answered, a little gruffly, “I’ll wait out here. Remember, Lois,” he added, turning towards her, “that we are expected home to play bridge directly after tea.”

“I will not be long,” she answered.

She moved off with Saton, turning round with a little farewell nod to Vandermere as they passed through the gate. He took a quick step towards her. Was it his fancy, or was there indeed appeal in the quick glance which she had thrown him? Then directly afterwards, while he hesitated, he heard her laugh. Reluctantly he gave up the idea of following them, and swinging himself onto a gate, sat watching the two figures climbing the field toward the house.