'Winds murmured through the leaves his short delay,
And fountains o'er their pebbles chid his stay;
But, with his presence cheered, they cease to mourn,
And walks seem fresher green at his return.'"
"Aptly quoted, though the lines were addressed to a lady, and for 'his' read 'your.' I don't think that even the fountains in Trafalgar Square would be weak enough to 'chide my stay.' But, apropos of poetic imagination, I am afraid I disturbed you from some deep reverie."
"You never were more mistaken," said Barbara, with a short laugh. "I--I came out on a much more unromantic expedition. I lost a glove a day or two ago, and--and fancied I might have dropped it somewhere here."
"Is this it?" asked Churchill suddenly, taking from his pocket a morocco-leather case, and producing from it the much-prized pearl-gray.
"Yes," said Barbara, glancing quickly at him from under her drooping eyelids; "that is it. How very fortunate!"
"I picked it up," said Churchill, "as we returned from the shooting-party the other day, and intended restoring it sooner, but forgot it. I am glad to be able to do so now." He handed her the glove, looked her straight in the face, and walked on silently by her side.
"We have had a new arrival here since you left," said Barbara, after a pause, swinging the glove slowly to and fro; "a Mr. Beresford. You know him?"
"Beresford? Oh, of the Tin-Tax Office! I have met him."
"You are on intimate terms?"
"I--I have not that honour. Mr. Beresford moves in a different set to mine."