"I know you are a martyr; but it's good to do some things we don't like, Ran, especially if it gives pleasure to others."
They walked through a shady lane, then turned down a road flanked by beech woods, and went steadily downhill for half a mile. Then they saw the river. It was high tide, and some fishing smacks, with their red-brown sails, were floating slowly down to the sea. They came to a high, tarred wooden fence, and Monica stopped at a small gate in it.
"We'll go in this way. It is a short cut. I am allowed a key."
A short walk through a dense shrubbery brought them out under a group of trees to the side of the house. The garden stretched away in terraces down to the river. On the lower lawn were a row of ship's guns mounted, and trees and flowering shrubs stretched down to the water's edge. They turned a corner sharply, and the long low, white house lay before them. It was a pretty spot; but Randolph's gaze was not on the house or the grounds.
A girl stood outside the open hall door, leaning against a stone pillar. She was dressed in a clinging black gown, her neck and arms were bare, and she was standing with her arms up and head resting on her clasped hands behind it. Very soft dusky dark hair surrounded a delicately pale oval face. Her eyes were grey, with black curling lashes and eyebrows. Her skin was as white as alabaster. It was a proud, high-bred little face, with determination stamped upon the round, prominent chin and sensitiveness about the curved lips and straight, Grecian nose. But her expression now, as she gazed up into the evening sky, was one of abject misery and helpless appeal.
Monica gave a loud cough. It seemed as if they were intruding upon sacred ground.
In a moment the girl dropped her arms and came forward. Her face was alight with pleasure and interest.
"Monica, is it you? Oh, my dear Uncle Ted has insisted upon going down to Yalstone for fish. He went off in his boat at two o'clock and hasn't yet returned. Cook is tearing her hair, and father is growling and swearing under his breath. But we can exist without a fish course, can't we? Is that Mr. Neville? I have heard of you often, but we have never met, I think."
She held out her hand to Randolph in a friendly fashion, and as he encountered her mirthful glance, he began to think that his first impression of her had been an optical delusion. Her voice had a peculiarly sweet lilt in it. He saw now that she was not a very young girl. There was the grace and ease of a woman in her manner. She led them into a low wide hall, scented with roses and heliotrope, which filled great china bowls. Monica, in a businesslike fashion, slipped off goloshes and cloak and stood upright in a dark green silk gown with some priceless lace upon neck and sleeves. Then they entered the drawing-room. It was quaint and dainty with its chintz hangings. A rounded bay window looked over the river, and beyond was a glimpse of the sea. Sitting in the twilight was the Admiral. He rose and welcomed Randolph heartily.
"Now, father, we will not wait for the dilatory culprit. He and his fish may arrive as we are having our coffee. I have explained to our guests, and they are quite resigned to their fate."