Whatever happened, he implied, he was steeled--politically and intellectually.
Nothing could deprive him either of the joy of the fight, or the amusement of the spectacle.
And Cynthia, her honey-gold hair blown back from her white temples by the summer wind, her blue parasol throwing a summer shade about her, showed herself, as they strolled backwards and forwards over the shady lawn of the cottage, a mistress of the listening art; and there is no art more winning, either to men or women.
Then, in a moment, what broke the spell?
Some hint or question from her, of a more intimate kind ?--something that touched a secret place, wholly unsuspected by her?
She racked her brains afterwards to think what it could have been; but in vain.

All she knew was that the man beside her had suddenly stiffened.

His easy talk had ceased to flow; while still walking beside her, he seemed to be miles away.

So that by a quick common impulse both stood still.
"I must go back to the village," said Cynthia.

She smiled, but her face had grown a little tired and faded.
He looked at his watch.
"And I told the car to fetch me half an hour ago.