As yet there were no signs of John or the cart.
But behind me, coming from the village, I heard the sound of light and rapid footsteps.

I turned my head.

It was Blanche Moyat, short-skirted, a stick in her hand, a feather stuck through her Tam-o'-Shanter.
"Good-morning," she cried out heartily; "I've been to call at your cottage." "Very kind of you," I answered, hesitatingly.

Miss Moyat was good-hearted, but a little overpowering--and in certain moods she reminded me of her father.
"Oh, I had an errand," she explained, laughing.

"Father said if I saw you I was to say that he has to call on the Duke this afternoon, and, if you liked, he would explain about your lecture last night, and try and get the village hall for you for nothing.