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He bent over her indistinguishable and kissed her on the left eye. She held her mouth and he softly kissed it, but at once drew away. He hated mouth kisses.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” she said, drawing away; “if I can,” she added.

“Ay! not so late,” he replied out of the darkness. Already she could not see him at all.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night, your Ladyship,” his voice.

She stopped and looked back into the wet dark. She could just see the bulk of him. “Why did you say that?” she said.

“Nay,” he replied. “Good night then, run!”

She plunged on in the dark-grey tangible night. She found the side door open, and slipped into her room unseen. As she closed the door the gong sounded, but she would take her bath all the same⁠—she must take her bath. “But I won’t be late any more,” she said to herself; “it’s too annoying.”

The next day she did not go to the wood. She went instead with Clifford to Uthwaite. He could occasionally go out now in the car, and had a strong young man as chauffeur, who could help him out of the car if need be. He particularly wanted to see his godfather, Leslie Winter, who lived at Shipley Hall, not far from Uthwaite. Winter was an elderly gentleman now, wealthy, one of the wealthy coal-owners who had had their heyday in King Edward’s time. King Edward had stayed more than once at Shipley, for the shooting. It was a handsome old stucco hall, very elegantly appointed, for Winter was a bachelor and prided himself on his style; but the place was beset by collieries. Leslie Winter was attached to Clifford, but personally did not entertain a great respect for him, because