Taking the Loger's exaggerated language for what it was really worth, the poor girl (as I was still inclined to fear) might have serious reason to regret that he had ever entered her father's cottage.
At the breakfast table, my stepmother and I met again.
Mrs.Roylake--in an exquisite morning dress; with her smile in perfect order--informed me that she was dying with curiosity.

She had heard, from the servants, that I had not returned to the house until past ten o'clock on the previous night; and she was absolutely bewildered by the discovery.

What could her dear Gerard have been doing, out in the dark by himself, for all that time?
"For some part of the time," I answered, "I was catching moths in Fordwitch Wood." "What an extraordinary occupation for a young man! Well?
And what did you do after that ?" "I walked on through the wood, and renewed my old associations with the river and the mill." Mrs.Roylake's fascinating smile disappeared when I mentioned the mill.
She suddenly became a cold lady--I might even say a stiff lady.
"I can't congratulate you on the first visit you have paid in our neighborhood," she said.

"Of course that bold girl contrived to attract your notice ?" I replied that I had met with the "bold girl" purely by accident, on her side as well as on mine; and then I started a new topic.

"Was it a pleasant dinner-party last night ?" I asked--as if the subject really interested me.