The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. " "Proceed, Sir," said Trenchard, breathing hard. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. Dinner was served at 5:30. Explain to Sir John our feelings. Have I your final answer?" "You have, Sir Rowland," she answered, in a feeble tone, but firmly. Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. Every moment. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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