His eyes returned to their proper position, likewise his hands.  His heart was perfectly light again as he turned to go back to the house.  When he had gone a few steps he came back.

“D’ye want that catapult very much, Meg?” he said gently.  “You’re only a girl, so I don’t ’spect it would be very much good to you, would it?”

“No, I don’t want it.  Here, take it, and hurry back:  think of your map,” Meg returned, in a very fever of impatience at his slowness.

And then Bunty, utterly happy once more, turned and ran away gaily up to the house.  And Meg let down the slip-rail, put it back in its place with trembling fingers, and fled in wild haste through the two remaining paddocks.

The wattle-scrub at the end was very quiet; there was not a rustle, not a sound of a voice, not a sound of the affected little laugh that generally told when Aldith was near.

Meg stopped breathless, and peered among the bushes; there was a tall figure leaning against the fence.

“Andrew!” she said in a sharp whisper, and forgetting in her anxiety that she never called him by his Christian name—­“where are the others?  Hasn’t Aldith come?”

There was the smell of a cigar, and, looking closely, she saw to her horror it was Alan.

“Oh!” she said, in an indescribable tone.

Her heart gave one frightened, shamed bound, and then seemed to stop beating altogether.

She looked up, at him as if entreating him not to have too bad an opinion of her; but his face wore the contemptuous look she had grown to dread and his lips were finely curled.

“I—­I only came out for a little walk; it is such a beautiful evening,” she said, with miserable lameness; and then in a tone of justification she added, “it’s my father’s paddock, too.”

He leaned back against he fence and looked down at her.

“Flossie gave me your note, and as it seemed addressed to me, and I was told it was far me; I opened it,” he said.

“You knew it was for Andrew,” she said not looking at him, however.

“So I presumed when I had read it,” he returned slowly; “but Andrew has not come back to-night yet, so I came instead; it’s all the same as long as it’s a boy, isn’t it?”

The girl made no reply, only put her hand up and drew the cloud more closely round her head.

His lips curled a little more.

“And I know how to kiss, too, I assure you.  I am quite a good hand at it, though you may not think so.  Oh yes, I know you said you did not want to be kissed; but then, girls always say that, don’t they?—­even when they expect it most.”

Still Meg did not speak, and the calm, merciless voice went on.

“I am afraid it is hardly dark enough for you, is it?  The moon is very much in the way, do you not think so?  Still, perhaps we can find a darker place farther on, and then I can kiss you without danger.  What is the matter?—­are you always as quiet as this with Andrew?”