“God bless my soul!” he declared.  “I didn’t know—­you didn’t tell me—­”

“Miss Lalonde has been a great sufferer,” Arnold said.  “She has been obliged to spend a good deal of her time lying down.  For that reason, to-day has been such a pleasure to her.”

He hurried forward and took the butler’s place.  Together they installed her in the most comfortable chair.  Mr. Weatherley came over and shook hands with her.

“Pretty place, this, Miss Lalonde, isn’t it?” he remarked.  “It’s a real nice change for business men like Mr. Chetwode and myself to get down here for an hour or two’s quiet.”

“It is wonderfully beautiful,” she answered.  “It is so long since I was out of London that perhaps I appreciate it more, even, than either of you.”

“What part of London do you live in?” Fenella asked her.

“My uncle and I have rooms in the same house as Mr. Chetwode,” she replied.  “It is in Adam Street, off the Strand.”

“Not much air there this hot weather, I don’t suppose,” Mr. Weatherley remarked.

“We are on the top floor,” she replied, “and it is the end house, nearest to the river.  Still, one feels the change here.”

Tea was brought out by the butler, assisted by a trim parlor-maid.  Fenella presided.  The note of domesticity which her action involved seemed to Arnold, for some reason or other, quaintly incongruous.  Arnold waited upon them, and Fenella talked all the time to the pale, silent girl at her side.  Gradually Ruth overcame her shyness; it was impossible not to feel grateful to this beautiful, gracious woman who tried so hard to make her feel at her ease.  The time slipped by pleasantly enough.  Then Fenella rose to her feet.

“You must carry Miss Lalonde and her chair down to the very edge of the lawn, where she can see the river,” she told Arnold.  “Afterwards, I am going to take you to see my little rose garden.  I say mine, but it is really my brother’s, only it was my idea when he first took the place.  Mr. Weatherley is going down to the boat-builder’s to see some motor-launches—­horrible things they are, but necessary if we stay here for the summer.  Would you like some books or magazines, Miss Lalonde, or do you think you would care to come with us if we helped you very carefully?”

Ruth shook her head.

“I should like to sit quite close to the river,” she said shyly, “just where you said, and close my eyes.  You don’t know how beautiful it is to get the roar of London out of one’s ears, and be able to hear nothing except these soft, summer sounds.  It is like a wonderful rest.”

They arranged her comfortably.  Mr. Weatherley returned to the house.  Fenella led the way through a little iron gate to a queer miniature garden, a lawn brilliant with flower-beds, ending in a pergola of roses.  They passed underneath it and all around them the soft, drooping blossoms filled the whole air with fragrance.  At the end was the river and a wooden seat.  She motioned to him to sit by her side.