He himself was not sorry to be released from Esther’s too friendly eyes, and he spent an agreeable evening over a book, and this time managed to forget her completely.

Though he remembered her first thing next morning, it was to smile wisely and determine he would not meet her again.  Yet by dinner-time the day seemed long; why, after all, should he not meet her?  By tea-time prudence triumphed anew—­no, he would not go.  Then he drank his tea hastily and set off for the stile.

Esther was waiting for him.  Expectation had given an additional colour to her cheeks, and her red-brown hair showed here and there a beautiful glint of gold.  He could not help admiring the vigorous way in which it waved and twisted, or the little curls which grew at the nape of her neck, tight and close as those of a young lamb’s fleece.  Her neck here was admirable, too, in its smooth creaminess; and when her eyes lighted up with such evident pleasure at his coming, how avoid the conviction she was a good and nice girl after all?

He proposed they should go down into the little copse on the right, where they would be less disturbed by the occasional passer-by.  Here, seated on a felled tree-trunk, Willoughby began that bantering, silly, meaningless form of conversation known among the ‘classes’ as flirting.  He had but the wish to make himself agreeable, and to while away the time.  Esther, however, misunderstood him.

Willoughby’s hand lay palm downwards on his knee, and she, noticing a ring which he wore on his little finger, took hold of it.

‘What a funny ring!’ she said; ‘let’s look?’

To disembarrass himself of her touch, he pulled the ring off and gave it her to examine.

‘What’s that ugly dark green stone?’ she asked.

‘It’s called a sardonyx.’

‘What’s it for?’ she said, turning it about.

‘It’s a signet ring, to seal letters with.’

‘An’ there’s a sorter king’s head scratched on it, an’ some writin’ too, only I carnt make it out?’

‘It isn’t the head of a king, although it wears a crown,’ Willoughby explained, ’but the head and bust of a Saracen against whom my ancestor of many hundred years ago went to fight in the Holy Land.  And the words cut round it are our motto, “Vertue vauncet”, which means virtue prevails.’

Willoughby may have displayed some accession of dignity in giving this bit of family history, for Esther fell into uncontrolled laughter, at which he was much displeased.  And when the girl made as though she would put the ring on her own finger, asking, ‘Shall I keep it?’ he coloured up with sudden annoyance.

‘It was only my fun!’ said Esther hastily, and gave him the ring back, but his cordiality was gone.  He felt no inclination to renew the idle-word pastime, said it was time to go, and, swinging his cane vexedly, struck off the heads of the flowers and the weeds as he went.  Esther walked by his side in complete silence, a phenomenon of which he presently became conscious.  He felt rather ashamed of having shown temper.