The morning of the garden-party was bright, almost perilously bright even for June; but there was exhilaration in the sight of the blue sky, dappled with fleecy white clouds, which formed such an exquisite contrast to the velvety green of the landscape, and a delicious sense of luxury in strolling about in the sun, and feeling rid at last of the treacherous wind.

The squire’s guests breakfasted upon the terrace, to the mild disapproval of Mrs Wolff, who could not understand why people could not be content to remain comfortably indoors, instead of picknicking in gipsy-like fashion on every possible occasion.  Her small, pinched face expressed the annoyance which she had not the courage to put into words, and as soon as her duties were over she hurried back to the shelter of the house.  Immediately she had disappeared Jack boldly demanded another cup of coffee, and set to work on toast and marmalade with a fresh access of appetite.

The opportunity was too good to be resisted.  Ruth flew indoors for her camera, and stood a few yards off focusing the table and its occupants, and waiting for a picturesque moment in which to snap.  It came at last, just as Jack was forgetfully indulging in an enormous bite, a bachelor habit which had become a standing joke among his companions.  Mollie had stolen a half-eaten piece of toast from his plate one morning, and measured the gap with an inch tape, to his everlasting embarrassment, so that the pictured memorial was hailed with delight.

Needless to say, Jack wished to have his revenge, and immortalise Mollie scraping the sugar out of the bottom of the cup in school-girl fashion, and finally Bates was pressed into the service and instructed how to snap, so that a complete group might be taken.

By this time it was ten o’clock, and Mollie announced her intention of going down to the vicarage to help in the final preparations for the afternoon’s entertainment.  She took for granted that Ruth would accompany her; but Miss Ruth had her own ideas as to the employment of the next few hours, and they had nothing to do with Mrs Thornton’s garden-party.

On her way downstairs to breakfast she had overheard Victor telling a servant that he had no orders for the stables this morning.  The inference was, therefore, that he intended to stop at home, and the thought had instantly darted into her mind that if Mollie went off to the vicarage there would be an hour or two before lunch, when-when-

Ruth blushed guiltily to herself when she got so far in her calculations; but it was such a delight to enjoy a quiet tete-a-tete talk sometimes, instead of the general impersonal conversation.  So it came to pass that when Mollie announced her intention of going down to the vicarage to help in the final preparations, Ruth absolutely refused to accompany her.

“I’ve done my share,” she said.  “To-day I am going to be a visitor pure and simple, and drive down when everything is ready for my reception.”

Mollie shrugged her shoulders resignedly.

“Well, somebody has got to do it, and, thank goodness, I’m not poor-spirited enough to leave a friend in the lurch at the last moment!  I shan’t be satisfied until I see the last chair in order; but I don’t see any reason why I should walk.  There is a pony-carriage in the stables, and if anyone had any nice feeling they would drive me there and back!”

Jack laughed, and limped across the terrace.

“Anyone, singular; they, plural!  Your grammar is deficient, Miss Mollie; but I suppose your modesty forbade you to be more explicit.  I have lots of good-feeling, and nothing to do, so I shall be charmed to escort you, if you will give the order.  It would take me too long to get down to the stables.”

It was evident that Jack’s offer was pleasing to Mollie, for she thanked him with a smile as bright as her words, and a quarter of an hour later on they were driving together across the park behind the sleek little pony, Mollie chatting gaily as usual, Jack listening with an air half amused, half bored.  Despite his accident, he was looking strong and well, his skin bronzed by the outdoor life of the last few weeks; but the old haughty, intolerant expression, which had seemed his chief characteristic at first meeting, was still noticeable in curving lip and nostril.  Not an easy man to convince against his will, nor one to be easily affected by the presence of a pretty girl.

“How cross Uncle Bernard was when I told him about the mysterious hamper!  One would think he grudged poor Mrs Thornton having anything nice!” said Mollie severely.  “He nearly snapped my head off when I asked if he had sent it.  I should not have thought much of that, if he had not denied it in so many words, for he might have been trying to put me off; but after what he said there can be no more doubt on the subject.  I wonder who could have sent it?  Mrs Thornton says she will never rest till she finds out.”

Jack flicked the pony impatiently.

“Why can’t she be content to take it quietly, and not worry any more?  That’s the worst of women-they must make a fuss!  If the man who sent it wanted to be thanked, he would have put in a card.  If he didn’t, it shows that he prefers to be anonymous, and it’s bad taste to go ferreting round trying to find out what she is not intended to know.  I should tell her so straight, if I were you.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because, being a woman, you would be consumed with curiosity, as I am.  Now, I wonder why you said the `man’?” queried Mollie, tilting her head on one side, and staring at him with mischievous eyes.  “What makes you think it was a man?  Couldn’t it as easily have been a woman?”

“Oh, quite; but I prefer to use one pronoun and stick to it, instead of muddling them up as you do.  Why are you always in such a hurry to snap a fellow up?” cried Jack irritably.

Mollie made a naughty little moue.

“I thought it was the other way about!  I was most mild and lamb-like, when you snubbed me for my grammar, abused my sex, and accused me of bad temper.  It shows how little you know of my beautiful disposition!”

Jack flicked the pony again, his face darkened by a frown.

“No, I don’t know you-how should I?  You never give me a chance.  You show me only the frivolous side of your character.  You are always laughing, joking, frivolling.  In all these weeks I have only once had a glimpse of your real self.  You evidently do not wish me to know you in any real or intimate sense; but that is your own fault, not mine.”

“If you have seen it only once, it cannot be my real self,” said Mollie quietly.  She had grown, not red but white, as she listened to Jack’s words, and her heart had begun to beat in an agitating fashion hitherto unknown.  She felt as if somebody had suddenly dealt her an unexpected blow, for until this moment she had fondly imagined herself to be good friends with Jack Melland.  “You do not know me, because, perhaps, there is nothing to know, beyond the frivolous, silly creature you dislike so much!”

“There you go again, exaggerating and catching up my words!  Who said I disliked you?  We were not talking of likes or dislikes.  We were talking of knowing each other properly.  I wouldn’t trouble my head if you were an ordinary, empty-headed girl, but I know you are not.  There is another side to your character, and I want to see and know you in it, but you evade me, and refuse to show yourself.  I suppose I am not worth the trouble of talking to seriously?”

Mollie shook her head dejectedly.

“I am not evading, I am not hiding anything.  I’m nineteen, and out for a holiday.  It’s the first taste of luxury I’ve ever known.  I enjoyed it so much,”-unconsciously to herself she used the past, not the present, tense-“that surely it was natural for me to be light-hearted.  I am not highly educated, and I’ve lived a very quiet life.  It’s only natural that I seem stupid in comparison with other girls you have met.  I suppose they are very clever and well read?”

Jack kept his eyes on the road, mentally classifying the girls with whom he had been most closely brought in contact in his town life.  Yes! they were for the most part accomplished and clever; but were they not also apt to be discontented with their lot, given to grumbling at the restrictions of home life, and to imagine themselves ill-used and unappreciated?  Mollie’s radiant good-humour and unconsciousness of self were qualities unknown among them.  What poor, anæmic images they appeared beside her!  Yet he was continually provoked by the very cheerfulness which he mentally approved.  Jack frowned, puzzled and disquieted.  As a rule, he was at no loss to account for his prejudices, but for once he found himself completely mystified.  What exactly was it that he wanted of Mollie Farrell, the lack of which rankled in his veins?  He could not tell, and annoyance with self gave an added touch of irritation to his tone.

“Oh, if you cannot distinguish between becoming a bookworm and talking seriously once in a way, there is no more to be said!  I’m sorry I spoke.  Now I suppose you will be offended with me, and the day will be spoiled?”

It was not a gracious speech, but Jack did not feel gracious, and he had not much control over his temper.  An inner voice informed him that he was behaving like a cad, and he acknowledged the truth of the indictment, while in the same moment he was prepared to reply more irritably than before.

He had not the chance, however, for Mollie’s eyes met his without the faintest shadow of reproach.  There was a subtle change in her expression, but it spoke neither of offence nor anger.

“No, I am not vexed; that would be stupid, for it would only make things worse.  It is my nature to look on the bright side of things.  I know I am thoughtless, but it won’t last.  I shall be serious enough some day- perhaps sooner than we think.  Don’t grudge me my little hour!”

The face raised to his looked so young and wistful that Jack felt a pang of the same remorse which one feels who has wounded a little child.  He averted his eyes and drove on in silence, thinking, thinking.-The clever town girl would have been mortally insulted if he had dared to criticise her manners or attainments, and would have justified herself by a dozen plausible arguments.  Mollie was ready to admit everything against herself, and only anxious to save him from any feeling of embarrassment.

She talked on impersonal topics all the rest of the way to the vicarage, and her smile when she bade him good-bye was resolutely cheerful, but he hated himself as he realised that for the first time there was an effort involved.  As he turned the pony round the corner of the little lane which bordered the lawn he heard Mrs Thornton’s surprised exclamation, “Why, Mollie!” and the half-laughing exclamation, “It’s nothing!  The sun is so strong, it made my eyes-smart!”

Jack Melland set his teeth and drove on in a tumult of feeling such as he had never known before in the course of his self-satisfied existence.  Blundering, presumptuous wretch that he was!  If any trouble came to Mollie Farrell, he would feel as guilty as if he himself had deliberately brought it to pass!