“Well, Frith!—­Mr. Courtier, is it?  I know your book, and I don’t approve of you; you’re a dangerous man—­How do you do?  I must have those two bags.  The cart can bring the rest....  Randle, get up in front, and don’t get dusty.  Ann!” But Ann was already beside the chauffeur, having long planned this improvement.  “H’m!  So you’ve hurt your leg, sir?  Keep still!  We can sit three....  Now, my dear, I can kiss you!  You’ve grown!”

Lady Casterley’s kiss, once received, was never forgotten; neither perhaps was Barbara’s.  Yet they were different.  For, in the case of Lady Casterley, the old eyes, bright and investigating, could be seen deciding the exact spot for the lips to touch; then the face with its firm chin was darted forward; the lips paused a second, as though to make quite certain, then suddenly dug hard and dry into the middle of the cheek, quavered for the fraction of a second as if trying to remember to be soft, and were relaxed like the elastic of a catapult.  And in the case of Barbara, first a sort of light came into her eyes, then her chin tilted a little, then her lips pouted a little, her body quivered, as if it were getting a size larger, her hair breathed, there was a small sweet sound; it was over.

Thus kissing her grandmother, Barbara resumed her seat, and looked at Courtier.  ‘Sitting three’ as they were, he was touching her, and it seemed to her somehow that he did not mind.

The wind had risen, blowing from the West, and sunshine was flying on it.  The call of the cuckoos—­a little sharpened—­followed the swift-travelling car.  And that essential sweetness of the moor, born of the heather roots and the South-West wind, was stealing out from under the young ferns.

With her thin nostrils distended to this scent, Lady Casterley bore a distinct resemblance to a small, fine game-bird.

“You smell nice down here,” she said.  “Now, Mr. Courtier, before I forget—­who is this Mrs. Lees Noel that I hear so much of?”

At that question, Barbara could not help sliding her eyes round.  How would he stand up to Granny?  It was the moment to see what he was made of.  Granny was terrific!

“A very charming woman, Lady Casterley.”

“No doubt; but I am tired of hearing that.  What is her story?”

“Has she one?”

“Ha!” said Lady Casterley.

Ever so slightly Barbara let her arm press against Courtiers.  It was so delicious to hear Granny getting no forwarder.

“I may take it she has a past, then?”

“Not from me, Lady Casterley.”

Again Barbara gave him that imperceptible and flattering touch.

“Well, this is all very mysterious.  I shall find out for myself.  You know her, my dear.  You must take me to see her.”

“Dear Granny!  If people hadn’t pasts, they wouldn’t have futures.”

Lady Casterley let her little claw-like hand descend on her grand-daughter’s thigh.