She had just got on to the path which wound among the trees when she encountered the person she would have most wished to avoid--the butler, Morgan. Elaine had never before seen him attired in anything but what might be described as his official garments; such was her mental confusion that, at her first sight, in his well-cut, neat grey suit, she hardly knew him; it had to be admitted that in it he looked more like a gentleman is supposed to look than Mr. Nash had done. He carried himself with less swagger than Herbert Nash; what was still more marked, he uncovered when he saw Miss Harding, showing all those signs of outward respect which a gentleman is supposed to show in the presence of a lady, but which Mr. Nash had entirely ignored; yet Miss Harding shrank back from Mr. Morgan as if he had been some noxious thing. Nothing could have been more deferential than the air with which he addressed her.
"With your permission, Miss Harding, I should like to speak to you."
She looked as if she was afraid that he would whip her.
"Not--not now; I'm afraid I shall be late for lunch; I--I don't want to keep Miss Lindsay waiting."
"We don't lunch on Sunday; you forget, Miss Harding; we take early dinner; I assure you you shan't be late; they can't begin without me, and I'm always punctual. Pray don't be distressed."
"I--I can't stop now; I--I'm not feeling very well."
"You're not looking very well, I'm sorry to say; as Mr. Nash informed you."
She started.
"Mr.---- What do you mean?"
"You were so engrossed with each other that you had no eyes for anything but yourselves; or you would certainly have noticed me. I was so close that I actually heard everything you said."