It was very still, though now and then a bleating of sheep rang sharply out of the wisps of mist that streaked the lower meadows.

Perhaps it was the stillness or the scent of the firs that climbed the hollow of the ghyll behind the house that reminded Ida of the man who had strolled with her through the shadow of the giant redwoods of the Pacific Slope.

In any case, she was thinking of him when Arabella Kinnaird stopped for a moment at her side and glanced toward Weston, who stood not far away.
"You heard that man's name.

Did you notice a resemblance to anybody we have met ?" she inquired.
"Yes," said Ida.

"Of course, it may be accidental." Her companion laughed.
"I don't think it is.