velvet hoods, added brilliancy to the gathering. Behind the scattered groups on the grass, the white house and the red-brown trees on either side of it formed a picturesque background, throwing up the gay colors of the costumes in vivid relief.
One figure, and one only, attracted Tregenna's attention the moment he entered the gates. This was Joan Langney, who, in her plain Sunday gown of russet tabby, with a full black hood, looked, he thought, a very queen of beauty among the more smartly dressed wives and daughters of the country squires.
He let the brigadier pass on alone up to the place where Squire Waldron was standing, and, dismounting from his horse, lingered a moment to pay his respects to Mistress Joan. He had always the excuse to himself that she might be able to afford him some useful information.
"Your servant, Miss Joan. 'Tis not necessary to ask if you are well this morning."
"Your servant, Mr. Tregenna. I am quite well, I thank you," replied Joan, with a curtsey.
It seemed to him there was in her brown eyes, as she looked quickly up and down again,
