Randolph relapsed into gloom, and Monica wisely left him and went into the house. She knew why he disliked all girls at this juncture, but made no comment upon his speech.
He paced the gravel path, enjoying his pipe and the cool, still evening air. Suddenly a small head shot out of an open window overhead.
"Cousin Ran, I'm going to be a poacher when I grows up!"
The head was as quickly withdrawn. Aunt Dannie could be heard expostulating with the small boy.
And Randolph smiled.
"The love of intrigue and sport begins early," he muttered. "I meant to be a poacher once."
His thoughts went back to a lonely boyhood, then swiftly turned to his more recent experiences of life, and as he remembered his wrongs, the peacefulness of his surroundings did not bring peace to his soul.
The next evening found him walking down the road, a light overcoat covering his dress-suit, and Monica by his side.
"You don't mind walking?" she was saying. "My mare is dead tired. I had to send her on an errand of five-and-twenty miles to-day. And, selfishly, I enjoy a tramp at this hour of the day."
"I mind nothing except the anticipation of our evening," he said somewhat grimly.