“Thank you, I am not tired—­”

“You are on my land, therefore you are my guest,” he insisted.  “I am not going to let you go back on foot—­”

“Mr. Cardemon, if you please, I very much prefer to return in my own way.”

“What an obstinate girl you are!” he said, with his uncertain laugh, which never came until he had prejudged its effect on the situation; but the puffy flesh above his white riding-stock behind his lobeless ears reddened, and a slow, thickish colour came into his face and remained under the thick skin.

“If you won’t let me send you back in a car,” he said, “you at least won’t refuse a glass of sherry and a biscuit—­”

“Thank you—­I haven’t time—­”

“My housekeeper, Mrs. Munn, is on the premises,” he persisted.

“You are very kind, but—­”

“Oh, don’t turn a man down so mercilessly, Miss West!”

“You are exceedingly amiable,” she repeated, “but I must go at once.”

He switched the weeds with his crop, then the uncertain laugh came: 

“I’ll show you a short cut,” he said.  His prominent eyes rested on her, passed over her from head to foot, then wandered askance over the young woodland.

“In which direction lies Estwich?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes; but they avoided her as he answered, busy fumbling with a girth that required no adjustment: 

“Over yonder,”—­making a slight movement with his head.  Then taking his horse by the head he said heartily: 

“Awfully sorry you won’t accept my hospitality; but if you won’t you won’t, and we’ll try to find a short cut.”

He led his horse out of the path straight ahead through the woods, and she walked beside him.

“Of course you know the way, Mr. Cardemon?” she said pleasantly.

“I ought to—­unless the undergrowth has changed the looks of things since I’ve been through.”

“How long is it since you’ve been through?”

“Oh, I can’t just recollect,” he said carelessly.  “I guess it will be all right.”

For a while they walked steadily forward among the trees; he talking to her with a frank and detached amiability, asking about the people at Estwich, interested to hear that the small house-party had disintegrated, surprised to learn that the countess had gone to town.

“Are you entirely alone in the house?” he asked; and his eyes seemed to protrude a little more than usual.

“Entirely,” she said carelessly; “except for Binns and his wife and the servants.”

“Why didn’t you ’phone a fellow to stop over to lunch?” he asked, suddenly assuming a jovial manner which their acquaintance did not warrant.  “We country folk don’t stand on ceremony you know.”

“I did not know it,” she said quietly.

His bold gaze rested on her again; again the uncertain laugh followed: 

“If you’d ask me to dine with you to-night I’d take it as a charming concession to our native informality.  What do you say, Miss West?”