"That's my job."
"So you're Major Lyveden?" said the girl.
Anthony looked up.
"How did you know?" he said.
A pair of large brown eyes regarded him steadily. Then the red lips parted, and André Strongi'th'arm flung back her handsome head and laughed merrily.
"Did you think," she said, panting, "did you really think that you could come to dwell in the parish of Girdle, and the fact escape the notice of the other parishioners?" She hesitated, and a suggestion of mockery crept into her voice. "Or are you too wrapped up in the estate to think about anything else?"
"I believe I am," said Anthony.
"I beg your pardon," said Miss Strongi'th'arm with an elaborate courtesy. "Thank you very much for enduring me for three minutes. If I'd——"
Her hunter broke into a trot.
"No, no," cried Anthony, running beside her. "Please walk again." She pulled the horse up. "I didn't mean to be rude. I meant——"