Annabel turned her head and saw a young man, perhaps of seven-and-twenty, dressed in a light walking-suit, with a small wallet hanging from his shoulder and a stick in his hand.

At sight of her he took off his cap and approached her bare-headed.
'I saw from a quarter of a mile away,' he said, 'that someone was sitting here, and I came down on the chance that it might be you.' She rose with a very slight show of surprise, and returned his greeting with calm friendliness.
'We were speaking of you at breakfast.

My cousin couldn't tell us for certain whether you were in England, though she knew you were in London a month ago.' 'Miss Tyrrell is with you ?' he asked, as if it were very unexpected.
'But didn't you know?
She has been ill, and they sent her to us to recruit.' 'Ah! I have been in Jersey for a month; I have heard nothing.' 'You were able to tear yourself from London in mid-season ?' 'But when was I a devotee of the Season, Miss Newthorpe ?' 'We hear you progress in civilisation.' 'Well, I hope so.

I've had a month of steady reading, and feel better for it.

I took a big chest of books to Jersey.