It was impossible that this bird’s voice could fail to bring to his mind the events of yesterday’s twilight and that upturned face at which he had gazed so exultantly in the gathering river-mists. To drown the blackbird’s notes, he began hurriedly telling her one thing after another of his afternoon’s adventures. When he came to his conversation with Miss Gault, they both instinctively shifted their position; and he found himself helping her to adjust the loosened belt of her old-fashioned cloak with a gesture that was almost paternal.

“One thing I cannot understand,” he said.

“Well?” she murmured.

“I cannot understand how Olwen should feel towards you as they tell me she does.”

The girl’s forehead wrinkled itself into a strained, pinched intensity; but all she said was, “I could never take care of any child as well as Mattie Smith.”

“I don’t believe you,” he retorted bluntly.