Page:Anthony John (IA anthonyjohn00jero).pdf/120

 "I have been thinking about it," he explained. "My difficulty is that I've no one to advise me, not now Sir William Coomber's dead."

"Why don't you have a talk with father?" she suggested.

"I did think of that too," he said with a laugh. "But it seems so cheeky."

"How would you like to go into his office?" she asked after a silence.

"Do you think he would?" he answered eagerly.

"I'll sound him about it," she said.

They had reached the path leading to the gamekeeper's cottage. Anthony had vaulted over the stile. He had turned and was facing her.

"You are a brick," he said.

He was looking up at her; she was standing on the cross-bar of the stile. She smiled and held out her hand for him to help her. She had beautiful hands. They were cool and firm, though in consequence of her habit of not wearing gloves, less white and smooth than those of other girls in her position.

He took it, and bending over it kissed it. Neither spoke again till they reached the old man's cottage.

It was a week later that he received a note from Mr. Mowbray asking him to come to dinner. He