For all that, it was the visage of an idealist.
Annabel led him into the house and to the study door, at which she knocked; then she stood aside for him to enter before her.

Mr.
Newthorpe was writing; he looked up absently, but light gathered in his eyes as he recognised the visitor.
'So here you are! We talked of you this morning.

How have you come ?' 'On foot from Pooley Bridge.' They clasped hands, then Egremont looked behind him; but Annabel had closed the door and was gone.
She went up to the room in which Paula sat scribbling letters.
'Ten minutes more!' exclaimed that young lady.

'I'm just finishing a note to mamma--so dutiful!' 'Have you written to Mr.Egremont ?' Paula nodded and laughed.
'He is downstairs.' Paula started, looking incredulous.
'Really, Bell ?' 'He has just walked over from Pooley Bridge.' 'Oh, Bell, do tell me! Have those horrid measles left any trace?
I really can't discover any, but of course one hasn't good eyes for one's own little speckles.

Well, at all events, everybody hasn't forgotten me.