The sun had set. A delicate purple haze already dimmed distances; and the twilight which falls more swiftly as summer deepens into autumn was already stealing into every hollow and ravine, darkening the alders where the stream stole swampwards. A few laggard crows were still winging toward the woods; a few flocks of blackbirds passed overhead almost unseen against the sky. Somewhere some gardener had been burning leaves and refuse, and the odour made the dusk more autumn-like.
As he crossed the line separating his land from the Ledwith estate he nodded to the daughter of one of his own gardeners who was passing with a collie; and then he turned to look again at the child whose slender grace and freshness interested him.
"Look out for that bull, Europa," he said, staring after her as she walked on.
She looked back at him, laughingly, and thanked him and went on quite happily, the collie plodding at her heels. Recently Sprowl had been very pleasant to her.
When she was out of sight he started forward, climbed the fence into the road, followed it to the drive-way, and followed that among the elms and Norway firs to the porch.
It was so dark here among the trees that only the lighted transom guided him up the steps.
To the maid who came to the door he said coolly: "Say to Mrs. Ledwith that Mr. Sprowl wishes to see her for a moment on a very important matter."
"Mrs. Ledwith is not at home, sir."
"What?"
"Mrs. Ledwith is not at home."