Eleanor felt startled. But it was with such a pleasant face that Mr. Rhys came up, such a cordial grasp of the hand greeted her, that the feeling vanished immediately. Perhaps that hand-clasp was all the warmer for Eleanor's changed appearance. She was very unlike the girl of superb health who had wandered over the old priory grounds a few weeks before. Eleanor's colour was gone; the blue veins shewed distinctly on the temples; the full lips, instead of their brilliant gay smile, had a languid and much soberer line. She made quite a different impression now, of a fair delicate young creature, who had lost and felt she had lost the proud strength in which she had been so luxuriant a little while before. Mr. Rhys looked at her attentively.
"You have been very ill, Miss Powle."
"I suppose I have—some of the time."
"I am rejoiced to see you well again."
"Thank you."
"Julia has been leading me over the garden and grounds. I did not know where she was bringing me."
"How do you like my garden?"
"For a garden of that sort—it seems to me well arranged."
He was very cool, certainly, in giving his opinion, Eleanor thought.
Her gardening pride was touched. This was a pet of her own.
"Then you do not fancy gardens of this sort."