He passed down the village street, and reached again the little gabled house which he had passed the night before. As he approached, there was a movement in the garden. A lady, who was walking among the roses, holding up her gray dress from the dew, turned and hastened toward the gate.
"Please come in! You must be tired out. The gardener told me he'd seen you about. We've got some coffee ready for you."
Meynell looked at the speaker in smiling astonishment.
"What are you up for at this hour?"
"Why shouldn't I be up? Look how lovely it is! I have a friend with me, and I want to introduce you."
Miss Puttenham opened her garden gate and drew in the Rector. Behind her among the roses Meynell perceived another lady—a girl, with bright reddish hair.
"Mary!" said Miss Puttenham.
The girl approached. Meynell had an impression of mingled charm and reticence as she gave him her hand. The eyes were sweet and shy. But the unconscious dignity of bearing showed that the shyness was the shyness of strong character, rather than of mere youth and innocence.
"This is my new friend, Mary Elsmere. You've heard they're at Forkéd Pond?" Alice Puttenham said, smiling, as she slipped her arm round the girl. "I captured her for the night, while Mrs. Elsmere went to town. I want you to know each other."
"Elsmere's daughter!" thought Meynell, with a thrill, as he followed the two ladies through the open French window into the little dining-room, where the coffee was ready. And he could not take his eyes from the young face.