who was at Eton with me."

She nodded.

"I expect I know his mother. What exactly do you mean by
'disappeared'?"

Tallente was looking out of the window. A slight hardness had crept
into his tone and manner. He had the air of one reciting a story.

"The young man and I differed last Tuesday night," he said. "In the
language of the novelists, he walked out into the night and disappeared.
Only an hour before dinner, too. Nothing has been heard of him since."

"What a fatuous thing to do!" she remarked. "Shall you have to get
another secretary?"

"Presently," he assented. "Just for the moment I am rather enjoying
doing nothing."

She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair and looked across at
him with interest, an interest which presently drifted into sympathy.
Even the lightness of his tone could not mask the inwritten weariness of
the man, the tired droop of the mouth, and the lacklustre eyes.

"Do you know," she said, "I have never been more intrigued than when I
heard you were really coming down here. Last summer I was in
Scotland--in fact I have been away every time the Manor has been open.
I am so anxious to know whether you like this part of the world."