'Not halves of bank-notes, Elfride ?' Elfride looked annoyed and guilty.

'They are only something of mine, papa,' she faltered, whilst Stephen leapt out, and, assisted by the lodge-keeper's little boy, crept about round the wheels and horse's hoofs till the papers were all gathered together again.

He handed them back to her, and remounted.
'I suppose you are wondering what those scraps were ?' she said, as they bowled along up the sycamore avenue.

'And so I may as well tell you.
They are notes for a romance I am writing.' She could not help colouring at the confession, much as she tried to avoid it.
'A story, do you mean ?' said Stephen, Mr.Swancourt half listening, and catching a word of the conversation now and then.
'Yes; THE COURT OF KELLYON CASTLE; a romance of the fifteenth century.
Such writing is out of date now, I know; but I like doing it.' 'A romance carried in a purse! If a highwayman were to rob you, he would be taken in.' 'Yes; that's my way of carrying manuscript.

The real reason is, that I mostly write bits of it on scraps of paper when I am on horseback; and I put them there for convenience.' 'What are you going to do with your romance when you have written it ?' said Stephen.
'I don't know,' she replied, and turned her head to look at the prospect.
For by this time they had reached the precincts of Endelstow House.
Driving through an ancient gate-way of dun-coloured stone, spanned by the high-shouldered Tudor arch, they found themselves in a spacious court, closed by a facade on each of its three sides.