He could not stand there for ever looking at her, pleasant as it might be to him to contemplate the lovely face; so he made a little movement at last, and came a few steps nearer to the gate.

“Good-evening once more, Miss Nowell,” he said.

She looked up at him, surprised by his sudden appearance, but in no manner embarrassed.

“Good-evening, Mr. Fenton.  I did not see you till this moment.  I was looking for my uncle.  He has gone out for a little stroll while he smokes his cigar, and I expect him home every minute.”

“I have been indulging in a solitary cigar myself,” answered Gilbert.  “One is apt to be inspired with an antipathy to the house on this kind of evening.  I left the Listers yawning over their tea-cups, and came out for a ramble.  The aspect of the lane at which we parted company this evening tempted me down this way.  What a pretty house you have!  Do you know I guessed that it was yours before I saw you.”

“Indeed!  You must have quite a talent for guessing.”

“Not in a general way; but there is a fitness in things.  Yes, I felt sure that this was your house.”

“I am glad you like it,” she answered simply.  “Uncle George and I are very fond of it.  But it must seem a poor little place to you after Lidford House.”

“Lidford House is spacious, and comfortable, and commonplace.  One could hardly associate the faintest touch of romance with such a place.  But about this one might fancy anything.  Ah, here is your uncle, I see.”

Captain Sedgewick came towards them, surprised at seeing Mr. Fenton, with whom he shook hands again very cordially, and who repeated his story about the impossibility of enduring to stop in the house on such a night.

The Captain insisted on his going in-doors with them, however; and he exhibited no disinclination to linger in the cottage drawing-room, though it was only about a fourth of the size of that at Lidford House.  It looked a very pretty room in the lamplight, with quaint old-fashioned furniture, the freshest and most delicate chintz hangings and coverings of chairs and sofas, and some valuable old china here and there.

Captain Sedgewick had plenty to say for himself, and was pleased to find an intelligent stranger to converse with.  His health had failed him long ago, and he had turned his back upon the world of action for ever; but he was as cheerful and hopeful as if his existence had been the gayest possible to man.

Of course they talked a little of military matters, the changes that had come about in the service—­none of them changes for the better, according to the Captain, who was a little behind the times in his way of looking at these things.

He ordered in a bottle of claret for his guest, and Gilbert Fenton found himself seated by the open bow-window looking out at the dusky lawn and drinking his wine, as much at home as if he had been a visitor at the Captain’s for the last ten years.  Marian Nowell sat on the other side of the room, with the lamplight shining on her dark-brown hair, and with that much-to-be-envied Skye terrier on her lap.  Gilbert glanced across at her every now and then while he was talking with her uncle; and by and by she came over to the window and stood behind the Captain’s chair, with her clasped hands resting upon his shoulder.