"Yes, oh yes; I paint a little," he answers smiling.
"Then you are an artist, I am sure!" exclaims the girl eagerly. "I was trying to settle in my own mind whether you were in the army or an artist. I was sure it was one of the two. Ah, you wretched little creature, here you are at last!"
This last remark is addressed to Vic, who with depressed tail and ears has suddenly appeared before them, looking guilty to the last degree.
"Don't scold her now, poor creature!" says Mr. Ferrars, stroking the dog's head encouragingly. "You promised to let her off, don't you remember?"
"Very well," says Doris, "I'll forgive her this time. Good gracious!" she exclaims after a little pause, "just look where the sun has got to. Why it must be one o'clock or more!"
"It is a quarter past," says Mr. Ferrars consulting his watch; "and that reminds me if I don't put my best foot foremost I'll not catch my train."
"Are you leaving Edendale then?"
"Yes, I am only passing through the place; but I could not resist taking a walk in the woods on this lovely morning. Are you in a hurry too?"
"My goodness, yes!" exclaims Doris excitedly, "I ought to have been home ages ago."
"I am so sorry," says Mr. Ferrars holding out his hand, "that I cannot accompany you home; but I fear it is impossible. I shall hope to meet you, however, some day at your aunt's. Good-bye, and thank you for the pleasant hour's talk we have had, and which I have thoroughly enjoyed." And first stooping to pick up Doris's book from the grass, on which it has been lying unnoticed ever since it fell there, he lifts his hat and walks away at a brisk pace, looking back once, before he turns off the path, to smile and wave his hand to her.