She could not imagine in what way they were connected with his life, nor why he should have been so averse to admitting his knowledge of them. But there were many inexplicable circumstances associated with the man who had chosen to live more or less the life of a recluse at Far End; and Sara, and the little circle of intimates who had at last succeeded in drawing him into their midst, had accustomed themselves to the atmosphere of secrecy that seemed to envelope him.
From his obvious desire to eschew the society of his fellow men and women, and from the acid cynicism of his outlook on things in general, it had been gradually assumed amongst them that some happenings in the past had marred his life, poisoning the springs of faith, and hope, and charity at their very fount, and with the tact of real friendship they never sought to discover what he so evidently wished concealed.
“Where is Molly to-day?” Miles's pleasant voice broke across the awkward moment, giving yet a fresh trend to the conversation that was languishing uncomfortably.
Sara's gaze ranged searchingly over the little groups of people sprinkled about the lawn.
“Isn't she here yet?” she asked, startled. “She was coming back from Oldhampton by the afternoon train, and promised to meet me here.”
Miles looked at his watch.
“The attractions of Oldhampton have evidently proved too strong for her,” he said a little drily. “If she had come by the afternoon train, she would have been here an hour ago.”
Sara looked troubled.
“Oh, but she must be here—somewhere,” she insisted rather anxiously.
“Shall I see if I can find her for you?” suggested Trent stiffly.