"Oh, no. I would rather be with those who really need me. There is no self-denial in it. Derbyshire is a lovely county, and I shall enjoy the change. I shall not be far from Haddon Hall."
Rufus looked interested at once.
"Why, that is very near to my place," he said. "Perhaps we shall meet again; for I am on my way there now."
She shook her head.
"My Aunt Catherine lives very quietly, and does not go into society—she is too much of an invalid."
Conversation turned into other channels, but all the time she was speaking Rufus was strangely conscious that he had met her before. Where had he seen those wistful dreamy eyes, and those resolute yet delicately sensitive curves about lips and chin? He left Lady Chatterton's that afternoon, perplexed and puzzled, yet deeply interested in her niece.
A fortnight later, he was striding over a Derbyshire moor with his dogs, when he suddenly was conscious of a girlish figure in front of him. She was vainly trying to detach some golden bloom from the prickly gorse, and he watched her ineffectual efforts with some interest. As he came up, she turned her head, and he recognized her at once as the one who had lately been so much in his thoughts.
"Are you by yourself?" he asked, after their first greetings had been exchanged.
"Yes," she said, brightly; "my aunt rests in the afternoon, and then is my opportunity for a good brisk walk. Isn't this a glorious moor?"
He smiled. "It is too dreary for me. Rather a change from the London streets, isn't it?"