“He is making the most of his time,” remarked Mrs. Haldean maliciously to my hostess.  “He knows that when Mr. Winter arrives he will retire into the extreme background.”

Douglas Winter, whose arrival was expected in the course of the week, was Miss Haldean’s fiance.  Their engagement had been somewhat protracted, and was likely to be more so, unless one of them received some unexpected accession of means; for Douglas was a subaltern in the Royal Engineers, living, with great difficulty, on his pay, while Lucy Haldean subsisted on an almost invisible allowance left her by an uncle.

I was about to reply to Mrs. Haldean when a patient was announced, and, as I had finished my breakfast, I made my excuses and left the table.

Half an hour later, when I started along the road to the village of Bradham, I had two companions.  Master Freddy had joined the party, and he disputed with me the privilege of carrying the “traps,” with the result that a compromise was effected, by which he carried the camp-stool, leaving me in possession of the easel, the bag, and a large bound sketching-block.

“Where are you going to work this morning?” I asked, when we had trudged on some distance.

“Just off the road to the left there, at the edge of the wood.  Not very far from the house of the mysterious stranger.”  She glanced at me mischievously as she made this reply, and chuckled with delight when I rose at the bait.

“What house do you mean?” I inquired.

“Ha!” she exclaimed, “the investigator of mysteries is aroused.  He saith, ‘Ha! ha!’ amidst the trumpets; he smelleth the battle afar off.”

“Explain instantly,” I commanded, “or I drop your sketch-block into the very next puddle.”

“You terrify me,” said she.  “But I will explain, only there isn’t any mystery except to the bucolic mind.  The house is called Lavender Cottage, and it stands alone in the fields behind the wood.  A fortnight ago it was let furnished to a stranger named Whitelock, who has taken it for the purpose of studying the botany of the district; and the only really mysterious thing about him is that no one has seen him.  All arrangements with the house-agent were made by letter, and, as far as I can make out, none of the local tradespeople supply him, so he must get his things from a distance—­even his bread, which really is rather odd.  Now say I am an inquisitive, gossiping country bumpkin.”

“I was going to,” I answered, “but it is no use now.”

She relieved me of her sketching appliances with pretended indignation, and crossed into the meadow, leaving me to pursue my way alone; and when I presently looked back, she was setting up her easel and stool, gravely assisted by Freddy.

My “round,” though not a long one, took up more time than I had anticipated, and it was already past the luncheon hour when I passed the place where I had left Miss Haldean.  She was gone, as I had expected, and I hurried homewards, anxious to be as nearly punctual as possible.  When I entered the dining-room, I found Mrs. Haldean and our hostess seated at the table, and both looked up at me expectantly.