One day Hollanden said, in greeting, to Hawker, "Well, he's gone."  
"Who?" asked Hawker.
 
"Why, Oglethorpe, of course. Who did you think I meant?"
 
"How did I know?" said Hawker angrily.
 
"Well," retorted Hollanden, "your chief interest was in his movements, I thought."
 
"Why, of course not, hang you! Why should I be interested in his movements?"
 
"Well, you weren't, then. Does that suit you?"
 
After a period of silence Hawker asked, "What did he—what made him go?"
 
"Who?"
 
"Why—Oglethorpe."
 
"How was I to know you meant him? Well, he went because some important business affairs in New York demanded it, he said; but he is coming back again in a week. They had rather a late interview on the porch last evening."
 
"Indeed," said Hawker stiffly.
 
"Yes, and he went away this morning looking particularly elated. Aren't you glad?"
 
"I don't see how it concerns me," said Hawker, with still greater stiffness.
 
In a walk to the lake that afternoon Hawker and Miss Fanhall found themselves side by side and silent. The girl the distant purple hills as if Hawker were not at her side and silent. Hawker frowned at the roadway. Stanley, the setter, the fields in a .
 
At last the girl turned to him. "Seems to me," she said, "seems to me you are dreadfully quiet this afternoon."
 
"I am thinking about my wretched field of stubble," he answered, still frowning.
 
Her parasol swung about until the girl was looking up at his inscrutable profile. "Is it, then, so important that you haven't time to talk to me?" she asked with an air of what might have been timidity.
 
A smile swept the from his face. "No, indeed," he said, instantly; "nothing is so important as that."
 
She seemed then. "Hum—you didn't look so," she told him.
 
"Well, I didn't mean to look any other way," he said . "You know what a bear I am sometimes. Hollanden says it is a scowl from trying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and ."
 
A little , a , ruffianly little brook, swaggered from side to side down the , ^............