She came nearer, as if to avoid the glistening showers the nickeled
sprinklers threw upon the thirsty grass, and Thirlwell watched her
drowsily, noting her light, well-balanced movements and the grace of her
tall figure. She wore a big white hat and a thin summer dress that he
thought was very artistically made. There was something aristocratic
about her, and he imagined she belonged to a party that had landed from
a fine steam yacht. Then he noted with some surprise that she was coming
to him.

She stopped and Thirlwell got up, imagining that she had made a mistake.
Her face, like her figure, hinted at strength tempered by proud
self-control. She had brown hair with a ruddy tint that caught the
light, gray eyes that met his with a calm, inquiring glance, and firm
red lips. Thirlwell was not a critic of female beauty, but he saw that
she had dignity and charm. In the meantime, he wondered what she wanted.

"Mr. Thirlwell, I suppose?" she said.

He bowed and she resumed: "Then I must thank you for coming here to meet
me. I am Agatha Strange."

It cost Thirlwell an effort to hide his surprise; indeed, he wondered
with some embarrassment whether he had succeeded, for this was not the
kind of girl he had expected to meet.

"It was not much out of my way, and I wanted to see the lake," he
replied, as he brought a chair.

She thanked him, and sitting down was silent for a few moments while she
gazed across the lawn. Some of the guests were sitting in the shadow by