air of lithe strength.  His face looked as though it were carven out of steel, so smooth and clean cut were his features.  His hair was of unfashionable length, and his dress was negligent, and yet no one could have mistaken him for anything but a man of high breeding.  His eyes were brown, and had that velvety texture of the iris which one sometimes sees among the women of the New Forest, and sometimes among the girls of the district round Bordeaux.  His whole appearance was feminine, and the unstable glance that he flashed from side to side spoke of vanity.  He said to his companion, “Who is the prim virgin with the fair hair?”

“She is the daughter of a widow in the town.  Blanchflower, I think the name is.”

“Do you think you could contrive an introduction?  There is a sort of savage innocence about that dress which rather attracts me.”

Within half an hour Miss Blanchflower was conversing easily with the slim young gentleman who had criticized her so pleasantly.

The girl was pleased to find this young fellow, who was a sort of literary celebrity in his way, talking to her on equal terms.  When he proposed a stroll in the improvised conservatory after the next dance, she was glad, although she felt that Desborough must be ill pleased.

When the last of the carriages had rolled away, and when the Town Hall was darkened, Marion Blanchflower was still sitting and thinking about the slim young man.  Desborough was forgotten, and the girl only had thoughts of this new acquaintance who suggested to her mind nothing but vivacity, and colour, and brilliant life.  In four days from that time Miss Blanchflower was strolling down a deep hollow which was known as the Dene.

The whole place was ablaze with hyacinths.  Far as one could see along the deep cliff, where the murmuring stream had carved itself a bed, the flowers spread like sheets of blue fire.  In the more distant hollows the delicate masses of colour lay like clouds of gorgeous mist.  Shooting straight up from the beds of hyacinths, tall elms met overhead, and the rooks kept up a clamour that dulled the senses without causing anything like irritation.  The girl stepped down the path, and the light from the green leaves floated around her and touched her face and figure with delicate shadows and flickering brightness.  She looked a joyous and beautiful creature, and the slim young man who met her by accident thought that he had never seen any picture so full of youth and delight.

The meeting was a pure coincidence.

The days passed on, and again and again Miss Blanchflower walked in the Dene amid the flame of the hyacinths.  Her mother trusted her greatly, and Desborough was too simple to have any afterthought when he found that his morning visits were discouraged.  He was grateful for every moment of her company, and he placidly looked forward to the time when his quiet life should be crowned.  Sometimes he chatted quite contentedly with Mrs. Blanchflower until Marion returned.  Several people in the town could have told him things that would have surprised him, but he held so much aloof from all company that nobody ventured on familiar talk with him.  The one man who had his confidence was the Wesleyan local preacher; but Musgrave lived a long way from the town, and Desborough saw him seldom.