The sound of a door creaking on its hinges came to him round the bend of the stream.
"By Jove, they get up early at the mill!" he cried. "I suppose I had better tumble into my clothes."
He had slipped into his trousers and shirt, and was stooping for his coat, when Greta Rotherson ran lightly down the path. She stopped on seeing the intruder and half turned her head, as if meditating flight.
"Good morning, Miss Rotherson," laughed Griff. "I've been having a bathe. May I put on my coat in your presence?"
"I think you had better, Mr. Lomax."
The girl came forward a few steps, smiling at the absurdity of his question.
"I have no right to be here, I'm afraid; but I used to bathe in this pool a good deal, and I could not resist the thought of it this morning."
"How did you find it out? I thought no one bathed here but myself."
"How did I find it out? Do you know how long I have lived on Marshcotes Moor?"
"I couldn't guess," said Miss Rotherson, demurely, seating herself on one end of the log.