“You see when one has watched a place for months—­and people tell you such tales—­and you come and find it so different—­and so—­so fascinating—­”

She paused, her plaintive look, under her wistful eyebrows, appealing to
Faversham to come to her aid, to justify her curiosity.

Suddenly, a sound of wheels from the front.

Lydia offered her hand to Faversham.

“I’m afraid we’ve tired you!”

“Tired! When will you come to see me again?”

“Will it be permitted?” She laid a finger on her lip, as she glanced smiling at the house.

He begged them to repeat their visit.  Tatham looked on in silence.  The figure of Lydia, delicately bright against the dark background of the Tower, absorbed him, and this time there was something painful and strained in his perception of it.  In his first meeting with her that day he had been all hopefulness—­content to wait and woo.  Now, as he saw her with Faversham, as he perceived the nascent comradeship between them, and the reason for it, he felt a first vague suffering.

A step approached through the sitting-room of which the door was open to the terrace.

The two ladies escorted by Tatham moved toward the house expecting Dixon with the announcement of their carriage.

A tall figure stood in the doorway.  There was a checked exclamation from Tatham, and Faversham perceived to his amazement that it was not Dixon—­but—­Melrose!

* * * * *

Melrose surveyed the group.  Removing his old hat he bowed gravely to the ladies.  His flowing hair, and largely cut classical features gave him an Apollonian aspect as he towered above the startled group, looking down on them with an expression half triumphant, half sarcastic.  Tatham was the first to recover himself.  He approached Melrose with a coolness like his own.

“You are back early, sir?  I apologize for my intrusion, which will not be prolonged.  I came, as you see, to inquire after my old friend, Mr. Faversham.”

“So I understand.  Well—­what’s wrong with him?  Isn’t he doing well—­eh?  Faversham, will you introduce me to your friends?”

Mrs. Penfold, so much shaken by the sudden appearance of the Ogre that words failed her, bowed profoundly; Lydia slightly.  She was indignant for Tatham.  Mr. Melrose, having announced his absence for the day, ought not to have returned upon them by surprise, and his manner convinced her that it had been done on purpose.

“They gave you tea?” said Melrose to Mrs. Penfold, with gruff civility, as he descended the steps.  “Oh, we keep open house nowadays.  You’re going?” This was in answer to Tatham’s bow which he slightly acknowledged.  “Good-day, good-day!  You’ll find your horse.  Sorry you’re so hurried.”

Followed by the old man’s insolent eyes, Tatham shook hands with Faversham and the Penfolds; then without reentering the house, he took a short cut across the garden and disappeared.