A Lifes Morning | Page 8

pursuit.
Hilstead was gained long before lunch could be thought of. Wilfrid
rode on, and circled back towards the hostelry famous for chops about
the hour of noon. He put up his horse, and strayed about the village till
his meal was ready; after he had eaten it he smoked a cigar among
hollyhocks and sunflowers. Then impatience possessed him. He looked
at his watch several times, annoyed to find that so little of the day was
spent. When he at last set forth again, it was to ride at walking pace in
the direction of home. He reached a junction of roads, and waited there
for several minutes, unable to decide upon his course. He ended by
throwing the reins on Oberon's neck.
'Go which way you will,' he said aloud.

Oberon paced forward to the homeward route.
'So be it. On, then! An hour will bring us to The Firs.'
The house was all but reached, when Wilfrid caught a glimpse of a
straw hat moving into a heath-clad hollow a hundred yards from the
road. He pressed on. At the gate stood a gardener.
'James,' he cried, leaping down, 'take the horse to the stable, will you?'
And, instead of going up to the house, he walked back in the direction
he had come till he reached the hollow in which the straw hat had
disappeared. Miss Hood sat on the ground, reading. She was about to
rise, but Wilfrid begged her not to move, and threw himself into a
reclining posture.
'I saw you as I rode past,' he said, in a friendly way. 'I suppose the twins
are straying?'
'They are at Greenhaws,' was the reply, 'Mrs. Winter called for them
immediately after lunch. She will bring them back early in the evening.'
'Ah!'
He plucked sprigs of heather. Miss Hood turned to her book.
'I've had a magnificent ride,' Wilfrid began again. 'Surely there is no
country in England so glorious as this. Don't you enjoy it?'
'Very much.'
'I have never seen the Yorkshire moors. The scenery, of course, is of a
much wilder kind?'
'I have not seen them myself,' said the governess.
'I thought you might have taken your holidays sometimes in that
direction.'
'No. We used to go to a seaside place in Lincolnshire called
Cleethorpes. I suppose you never heard of it?'
'I think not.'
Wilfrid continued to pluck heather, and let his eyes catch a glimpse of
her face now and then. Miss Hood was a year younger than himself,
and had well outgrown girlishness. She was of very slight build, looked
indeed rather frail; but her face, though lacking colour, had the firmness
of health. It was very broad at the forehead, and tapered down into
narrowness; the eyes seemed set at an unusual distance from each other,
though the nose was thin and of perfect form, its profile making but a
slight angle away from the line of the brows. Her lips were large, but
finely curved; the chin was prominent, the throat long. She had warm

brown hair.
Few would at first sight have called her face beautiful, but none could
deny the beauty of her hands. Ungloved at present, they lay on the open
pages of the book, unsurpassable for delicate loveliness. When he did
not venture to look higher, Wilfrid let his eyes feed on the turn of the
wrist, the faint blue lines and sinuous muscles, the pencilling about the
finger-joints, the delicate white and pink nails.
Miss Hood was habitually silent when in the company of others than
the children. When she replied to a question it was without timidity, but
in few, well-chosen words. Yet her manner did not lack cheerfulness;
she impressed no one as being unhappy, and alone with the twins she
was often gay enough. She was self-possessed, and had the manners of
a lady, though in her position this was rather to be observed in what she
refrained from doing than in what she did. Wilfrid had, on first meeting
her, remarked to himself that it must imply a Certain force of
individuality to vary so distinctly from the commonplace even under
the disadvantage of complete self-suppression; he had now come to
understand better the way in which that individuality betrayed itself.
'Shall you go to Cleethorpes this year?' was his next question.
'I think not. I shall most likely pass the holidays at home.'
'And study electricity?'
In a former conversation she had surprised him by some unexpected
knowledge of the principles of electricity, and explained the
acquirement by telling him that this subject was her father's favourite
study. Wilfrid put the question now with a smile.
'Yes, very likely,' she replied, smiling also, but faintly. 'It gives my
father pleasure when I do so.'
'You have