to come to America.  She opened the front door for herself—­her light tread had summoned none of the servants—­and on the threshold she gave a last look.  Outside, she was still in the humor for curious contemplation; so instead of going directly down the little drive, to the gate, she wandered away towards the garden, which lay to the right of the house.  She had not gone many yards over the grass before she paused quickly; she perceived a gentleman stretched upon the level verdure, beneath a tree.  He had not heard her coming, and he lay motionless, flat on his back, with his hands clasped under his head, staring up at the sky; so that the Baroness was able to reflect, at her leisure, upon the question of his identity.  It was that of a person who had lately been much in her thoughts; but her first impulse, nevertheless, was to turn away; the last thing she desired was to have the air of coming in quest of Robert Acton.  The gentleman on the grass, however, gave her no time to decide; he could not long remain unconscious of so agreeable a presence.  He rolled back his eyes, stared, gave an exclamation, and then jumped up.  He stood an instant, looking at her.

“Excuse my ridiculous position,” he said.

“I have just now no sense of the ridiculous.  But, in case you have, don’t imagine I came to see you.”

“Take care,” rejoined Acton, “how you put it into my head!  I was thinking of you.”

“The occupation of extreme leisure!” said the Baroness.  “To think of a woman when you are in that position is no compliment.”

“I did n’t say I was thinking well!” Acton affirmed, smiling.

She looked at him, and then she turned away.

“Though I did n’t come to see you,” she said, “remember at least that I am within your gates.”

“I am delighted—­I am honored!  Won’t you come into the house?”

“I have just come out of it.  I have been calling upon your mother.  I have been bidding her farewell.”

“Farewell?” Acton demanded.

“I am going away,” said the Baroness.  And she turned away again, as if to illustrate her meaning.

“When are you going?” asked Acton, standing a moment in his place.  But the Baroness made no answer, and he followed her.

“I came this way to look at your garden,” she said, walking back to the gate, over the grass.  “But I must go.”

“Let me at least go with you.”  He went with her, and they said nothing till they reached the gate.  It was open, and they looked down the road which was darkened over with long bosky shadows.  “Must you go straight home?” Acton asked.

But she made no answer.  She said, after a moment, “Why have you not been to see me?” He said nothing, and then she went on, “Why don’t you answer me?”

“I am trying to invent an answer,” Acton confessed.

“Have you none ready?”

“None that I can tell you,” he said.  “But let me walk with you now.”