kind, but I feel no immediate desire for a glass of wine. I think you needn't trouble yourself about the magazines, either. I am in no mood to read. And Ludlow pulled out his watch and compared it with the clock. "I'm afraid your clock is fast."
"Yes;" said Adela, "very likely."
"Some ten minutes. Well, I suppose I had better be walking;" and, coming toward Adela, he extended his hand.
She gave him hers. "It's a day of days for a long, slow ramble," she said.
Ludlow's only rejoinder was his hand-shake. He moved slowly toward the door, half accompanied by Adela. "Poor fellow!" she said to herself. The lattice summer-door admitted into the entry a cool, dusky light, in which Adela looked pale. Ludlow divided its wings with his stick, and disclosed a landscape, long, deep and bright, framed by the pillars of the veranda. He stopped on the threshhold, swinging his stick. "I hope I shan't lose my way," he said.
"I hope not. My brother will not forgive me if you do."
Ludlow's brows were slightly contracted by a frown, but he contrived to smile with his lips. "When shall I come back?" he asked abruptly.
Adela found but a low tone—almost a whisper—
