He had not seen Alice since the accident, save for one short minute, when riding from Gledsmuir he had passed her one afternoon at the Glenavelin gates.

He had earnestly desired to stop, but his curious cowardice had made him pass with a lifted hat and a hasty smile.

Could he have looked back, he might have seen the girl watching him out of sight with tearful eyes.

To himself he was the hopeless lover, and she the scornful lady, while she in her own eyes was the unhappy girl for whom the soldier in the song shakes his bridle reins and cries an eternal adieu.
Matters did not improve when the Manorwaters left and Mr.Wishart himself came down, bringing with him Stocks, a certain Mr.Andrews and his wife, and an excellent young man called Thompson.

All were pleasant people, with the manners which the world calls hearty, well-groomed, presentable folk, who enjoyed this life and looked forward to a better.
Mr.Wishart explored the place thoroughly the first evening, and explained that he was thankful indeed that he had been led to take it.
He was a handsome man with a worn, elderly face, a square jaw and somewhat weary eyes.