On Greffington Edge.
Roddy was looking like Mark, with his eyes very steady and his mouth firm and proud. His face was red as if he were angry. That was when he saw the tall man coming towards them down the hill road.
Roddy walked slowly, trying not to meet him at the cattle-gate. The tall man walked faster, and they met. Roddy opened the gate.
The tall man thanked him, said "Good day," looked at her as he passed through, then stopped.
"My sister—Mr. Sutcliffe."
Mr. Sutcliffe, handsome with his boney, high-jointed nose and narrow jaw, thrust out, incongruously fierce, under his calm, clean upper lip, shaved to show how beautiful it was. His black blue eyes were set as carefully in their lids as a woman's. He wore his hair rather long. One lock had got loose and hung before his ear like a high whisker.
He was asking Roddy when he was coming to play tennis, and whether his sister played. They might turn up tomorrow.
The light played on his curling, handsome smile. He hoped she liked
Rathdale.
"She only came yesterday," Roddy said.
"Well—come along to-morrow. About four o'clock. I'll tell my wife."