“Then all I can say,” Mannering declared, gravely, “is, that you are a remarkably sensible young man.  I am quite strong enough to bear a shock of that sort.”

“I’m very glad to hear you say so, sir,” Richard said.  “Of course I shouldn’t think of taking her away until you were quite yourself again.”

“The cheek of the young man!” Mannering murmured.  “She wouldn’t go!”

“I don’t believe she would,” Richard laughed.  “Of course we consider that you are very nearly well now.”

“You can consider what you like,” Mannering answered, “but I shall remain an invalid as long as it pleases me.”

Hester appeared on the upper lawn, and Richard rose up at once.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said, “I think that I should like to go and tell Hester that I have spoken to you.”

Mannering nodded.  He watched the two young people stroll off together towards the rose-garden, talking earnestly.  He heard the little iron gate open and close.  He watched them disappear behind the hedge of laurels.  A puff of breeze brought the faint odour of roses to him, and with it a sudden host of memories.  His eyes grew wistful.  He felt something tugging at his heartstrings.  Only a few years ago life here had seemed so wonderful a thing—­only a few years, but with all the passions and struggles of a lifetime crowded into them.  The maelstrom was there still, but he himself had crept out of it.  What was there left?  Peace, haunted with memories, rest, troubled by desire.  He heard the sound of their voices in the rose-garden, and he turned away with a pain in his heart of which he was ashamed.  These things were for the young!  If youth had passed him by, still there were compensations!

Compensations, aye—­but he wanted none of them!  He picked up the newspaper, and with a little difficulty, for his sight was not yet good, found a certain paragraph.  Then the paper slipped again from his fingers, and he heard the sweeping of a woman’s dress across the smooth-shaven lawn.  He gripped the sides of his chair and set his teeth hard.  He struggled to rise, but she moved swiftly up to him with a gesture of remonstrance.

“Please don’t move,” she exclaimed, as though her coming were the most natural thing in the world.  “I am going to sit down with you, if I may!”

He murmured an expression of conventional delight.  She wore a dress of some soft white material, and her figure was as wonderful as ever.  He recovered himself almost at once and studied her admiringly.

“Paris?” he murmured.

“Paquin!” she answered.  “I remembered that you liked me in white.”

“But where on earth have you come from?” he asked.

“The Farm,” she answered.  “I’m going to take it for three months—­if you’re decent to me!”

“That rascal Richard!” he muttered.  “Never told me a word!  Pretended to be surprised when he heard you and Clara were back.”