Then he dismounted and walked up to Fay, bridle in hand.
"What good fortune to meet you," he said.

"I so seldom come this way." This may have been the truth in some higher, rarer sense than its obvious meaning, for Wentworth was a perfectly veracious person.

Yet anyone who had seen him during the last few weeks constantly riding at a foot's pace down this particular glade, looking carefully to right and left, would hardly have felt that his remark dovetailed in with the actual facts.

The moral is--morals cluster like bees round certain individuals--that we must not ponder too deeply the meanings of men like Wentworth.
"I often used to come here," said Fay, "but not of late.

I came to get some palm." She had in her bare hand a little bunch of palm, the soft woolly buds on them covered with yellow dust.