He could see his little orchard as he sat by his fire. She thought she
rather liked him for keeping his window so wide open.
She was standing by it looking at the orchard as he came in.
* * * * *
He was so quiet in his coming that she did not see or hear him till he
stood before her.
And in his eyes, intensely quiet, there was a look of wonder and of
incredulity, almost of concern.
Greetings and introductions over, the unused arm-chair was brought out
from its lair in the corner. Rowcliffe, in his own arm-chair, sat in
shadow, facing her. What light there was fell full on her.
"I'm sorry you should have had to come to me," he said, "your sister
was here a minute or two ago."
"My sister?"
"I think it _must_ have been your sister. She said it was _her_ sister
I was to go and see."
"I didn't know she was coming. She never told me."
"Pity. I was coming out to see you first thing tomorrow morning."
"Then you know? She told you?"
"She told me something." He smiled. "She must have been a little
overanxious. You don't look as if there was very much the matter with
you."
"But there isn't. It isn't me."
"Who is it then?"
"My other sister."
"Oh. I seem to have got a little mixed."
"You see, there are three of us."
He laughed.
"Three! Let me get it right. I've seen Miss Cartaret. You are Miss
Gwendolen Cartaret. And the lady I am to see is--?
"My youngest sister, Alice.
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