there. In the next field two figures were disappearing, the taller, a man in a tennis jacket, carrying a pail. Sir Clement had been sent for water, and Mary had gone with him to show him the spring. Rob stared after them; and if Will could have got hold of Mary he would have shaken her for spoiling everything.
Mrs. Meredith was meditating sending some one to the spring to show them the way back, when Sir Clement and Mary again came into sight. They did not seem to be saying much, yet were so engrossed that they zigzagged toward the rest of the party like persons seeking their destination in a mist. Just as they reached the trees Mary looked up so softly at her companion that Rob turned away in an agony.
'It is a long way to the spring,' were Mary's first words, as if she expected to be taken to task for their lengthened absence.
'So it seems,' said Dick.
The baronet crossed with the pail to Mrs. Meredith, and stopped half-way like one waking from a dream. Mrs. Meredith held out her hand for the pail, and the baronet stammered with vexation. Simultaneously the whole party saw what was wrong, but Will only was so merciless as to put the discovery into words.
'Why,' cried the boy, pausing to whistle in the middle of his sentence, 'you have forgotten the water!'
It was true. The pail was empty. Sir Clement turned it upside down, and made a seat of it.
'I am so sorry,' he said to Mrs. Meredith, trying to speak lightly. 'I assure you I thought I had filled the pail at the spring. It is entirely my fault, for I told Miss Abinger I had done so.'
Mary's face was turned from the others, so that they could not see how she took the incident. It gave them so much to think of that Will was the only one of the whole party who saw its ridiculous aspect.
'Put it down to sunstroke, Miss Meredith,' the baronet said to Nell; 'I shall never allow myself to be placed in a position of trust again.'
'Does that mean,' asked Dick, 'that you object to being sent back again to the spring?'
'Ah, I forgot,' said Sir Clement. 'You may depend on me this time.'
He seized the pail once more, glad to get away by himself to some place where he could denounce his stupidity unheard, but Mrs. Meredith would not let him go. As for Mary, she was looking so haughty now that no one would have dared to mention the pail again.
During the meal Dick felt compelled to talk so much that he was unusually dull company for the remainder of the week. The others were only genial now and again. Sir Clement sought in vain to gather from Mary's eyes that she had forgiven him for making the rest of the party couple him and her in their thoughts. Mrs. Meredith would have liked to take her daughter aside and discuss the situation, and Nell was looking covertly at Rob, who, she thought, bore it bravely. Rob had lately learned carving from a handbook, and was dissecting a fowl, murmuring to himself, 'Cut from a to b along the line f g, taking care to sever the wing at the point k.' Like all the others, he thought that Mary had promised to be the baronet's wife, and Nell's heart palpitated for him when she saw how gently he passed Sir Clement the mustard. Such a load lay on Rob that he felt suffocated. Nell noticed indignantly that Mary was not even 'nice' to him. For the first time in her life, or at least for several weeks, Miss Meredith was wroth with Miss Abinger. Mary might have been on the rack, but she went on proudly eating bread and chicken. Relieved of his fears, Dick raged internally at Mary for treating Angus cruelly, and Nell, who had always dreaded lest things should not go as they had gone, sat sorrowfully because she had not been disappointed. They all knew how much they cared for Rob now, all except Mary of the stony heart.
Sir Clement began to tell some travellers' tales, omitting many things that were creditable to his bravery, and Rob found himself listening with a show of interest, wondering a little at his own audacity in competing with such a candidate. By and by some members of the little party drifted away from the others, and an accident left Mary and Rob together. Mary was aimlessly plucking the berries from a twig in her hand, and all the sign she gave that she knew of Rob's presence was in not raising her head. If love is ever unselfish his was at that moment. He took a step forward, and then Mary, starting back, looked round hurriedly in the direction of Sir Clement. What Rob thought was her meaning flashed through him, and he stood still in pain.
'I am sorry you think so meanly of me,' he said, and passed on. He did not see Mary's arms rise involuntarily, as if they would call him back. But even then she did not realise what Rob's thoughts were. A few yards away Rob, moving blindly, struck against Dick.
'Ah, I see Mary there,' her brother said, 'I want to speak to her. Why, how white you are, man!'
'Abinger,' Rob answered hoarsely, 'tell me. I must know. Is she engaged to Dowton?'
Dick hesitated. He felt sore for Rob. 'Yes, she is,' he replied. 'You remember I spoke of this to you before.' Then Dick moved on to have it out with Mary. She was standing with the twig in her hand, just as Rob had left her.
'Mary,' said her brother bluntly, 'this is too bad. I would have expected it from any one sooner than from you.'
'What are you talking about?' asked Mary frigidly.
'I am talking about Angus, my friend. Yes, you may smile, but it is not play to him.'
'What have I done to your friend?' said Mary, looking Dick in the face.
'You have crushed the life for the time being out of as fine a fellow as I ever knew. You might at least have amused yourself with some one a little more experienced in the ways of women.'
'How dare you, Dick!' exclaimed Mary, stamping her foot. All at once Dick saw that though she spoke bravely her lips were trembling. A sudden fear seized him.
'I presume that you are engaged to Dowton?' he said quickly.
'It is presumption certainly,' replied Mary.
'Why, what else could any one think after that ridiculous affair of the water?'
'I shall never forgive him for that,' Mary said, flushing.
'But he——'
'No. Yes, he did, but we are not engaged.'
'You mean to say that you refused him?'
'Yes.'
Dick thought it over, tapping the while on a tree-trunk like a woodpecker.
'Why?' he asked at last.
Mary shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing.
'You seemed exceedingly friendly,' said Dick, 'when you returned here together.'
'I suppose,' Mary said bitterly, 'that the proper thing in the circumstances would have been to wound his feelings unnecessarily as much as possible?'
'Forgive me, dear,' Dick said kindly; 'of course I misunderstood—but this will be a blow to our father.'
Mary looked troubled.
'I could not marry him, you know, Dick,' she faltered.
'Certainly not,' Dick said, 'if you don't care sufficiently for him; and yet he seems a man that a girl might care for.'
'Oh, he is,' Mary exclaimed. 'He was so manly and kind that I wanted to be nice to him.'
'You
