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beautiful, she interested him, and he smiled. He lifted his hat.
The girl stared at him; she started a little as he raised his hat. She gave the slightest inclination of her head. It was not encouraging.
Hugh sat down. He was thinking of the man he had seen a while ago--a clean, honest, open-faced man, a man he felt he could like, and yet by every reason ought to hate.
The girl was studying his profile.
She had the suspicion that is inherent in all shy wild things, and yet, looking at him, she felt that this man was no dangerous animal to be feared and avoided.
Turning suddenly, he caught her glance and smiled.
"You live here?"
"No!"
"Yet you--oh, I see, you are staying here--"
"No, I live at Little Langbourne."
He smiled, having no idea where Little Langbourne might be.
They talked--of nothing, of the ducks and geese on the green, of the weather, of the sunshine, of the ancient stocks.
"You are staying here?" she asked.
"Yes, at Mrs. Bonner's."
"Oh, then you are an artist?"
"Nothing so ornamental, I am afraid. No--quite a useless person."
"If you are not an artist, and have no friends here, do you not find it a little dull?"
"Yes, but I am a patient animal. I am waiting, you see."
"Waiting--for what?"
Hugh smiled. "For something that may happen, and yet may not. I am waiting in case it does. Of course you don't understand, little girl, I--I mean--I am sorry," he apologised. "I was forgetting, thinking of a friend, another girl I know."
"I am not offended. Why should I be? I am a girl and--and not very big, am I?" She rose and smiled at him, and held out her hand.
"Thank you," Hugh said. He took her hand and held it. "I think you are generous."
"For not being offended by a silly thing like that!" She laughed and turned to get the bicycle. But it had slipped, the handle-bar had become wedged in the railings; it took all Hugh's strength to persuade the handle-bar