He lifted his hat and smiled into her eyes—then walked quickly through the tiny garden, opened the gate, shut it carefully behind him, and disappeared. Mary listened for a moment to the swish of the falling rain among the leaves, and the noise of the tumbling hill-torrent over its stony bed. Then she closed and barred the door.
"It's going to be a wet night, David!" she said, as she came back towards the fire—"And a bit rough, too, by the sound of the sea."
He did not answer immediately, but watched her attentively as she made up the fire, and cleared the table of the tea things, packing up the cups and plates and saucers in the neat and noiseless manner which was particularly her own, preparatory to carrying them all on a tray out to the little scullery adjoining the kitchen, which with its well polished saucepans, kettles, and crockery was quite a smart feature of her small establishment. Then—
"What do you think of him, Mary?" he asked suddenly.
"Of Mr. Reay?"
"Yes."
She hesitated a moment, looking intently at a small crack in one of the plates she was putting by.
"Well, I don't know, David!—it's rather difficult to say on such a short acquaintance—but he seems to me quite a good fellow."
"Quite a good fellow, yes!" repeated Helmsley, nodding gravely—"That's how he seems to me, too."
"I think,"—went on Mary, slowly—"that he's a thoroughly manly man,—don't you?" He nodded gravely again, and echoed her words——