‘Yes.  Don’t let me detain you, sir,’ she said, putting herself in quick motion across the moss.  He met her on the other side of a big boulder and stayed her, though with the quietest manner of interference.

‘I beg your pardon—­but if you wish to go home—­’

‘Yes,’ she answered, with a half laugh, glancing up at the sun; ‘I know.  I am only going round this way.’

He stayed her still.  ‘I can guide you this way,’ he said; ‘but—­it is not the way to the House.’

Another glance at the sun.  ‘Which is the way?’

’I will show it to you.  Do you care most for speed or smooth going?  You are tired?’

Wych Hazel knit her brows into the most abortive attempt at a frown.  What right had he to suppose that she was tired!

’If you will just show me the way, sir—­the shortest; I mean, point out the direction.’

He was standing and waiting her pleasure with contented gravity.  ’The direction is not to be followed in a straight line,’ said he.  ’I can only show you by going before.  Is that your meaning?’

‘I should like to get home the shortest way,’ said she hesitating.

He went on without more words, and maintaining the polished gravity of his first address; but Wych Hazel had reason to remember her walk of that morning.  It was a shorter way than he had come, that by which her conductor took her, and in parts easy enough; but in other parts requiring his skill as well as hers to get her over them.  He said not a word further; he served her in silence:  the vexatious thing was, that he was able to serve her so much.  Many a time she had to accept his hand to get past a rude place; often both hands were needed to swing her over a watercourse or leap her down from a rock.  She was agile and light of foot; she did what woman could; it was only by sheer necessity that she yielded the mortifying tacit confession to man’s superior strength, and gave so often opportunity to a pair of good eyes to see what she was like near at hand.  Wych Hazel’s own eyes made few discoveries.  She could feel every now and then that her conductor’s hand and foot were as firm and reliable as the mountain itself.  This course of travelling brought them, however, soon to the level of the Mountain House and to plain going.  There Mr. Rollo fell behind, allowing the young lady to take her own pace in crossing the lawn and the hall, only attending her like her shadow to the foot of the stairs.  With the first reaching of level ground, he had had a full look and gesture of acknowledgment; what became of him afterwards Miss Hazel seemed not to know. He knew that she ran up the first flight of stairs, and that once out of sight her steps drooped instantly.

‘So!’ said Mr. Kingsland, advancing.  ’Really!  Rollo my dear fellow, how are we to understand this?’

‘Give us an introduction after lunch, will you?’ said another.

‘But, Mr. Rollo, how extraordinary!’ said one of the dowagers.