"What?"
"Oh nothing, nothing," replied Beaumont airily. "I'll tell you all about it in a week."
Nestley did not reply, but stood silently looking at the ground, on seeing which, Beaumont drew his arm within his own, with a gay laugh.
"Come along," he said cheerfully, "we'll walk back to Garsworth, and you can tell me all about the Squire and his picture."
[CHAPTER VII.]
THE HOUSEKEEPER.
Like a lone mountain white with virgin snow,
Which holds within its breast eternal fire
This woman cold and pale with face of woe
Yet feels at heart an unappeased desire.