She drove straight across the furrows towards them a little
recklessly, the groom running behind. By her side was a girl with coils
of deep brown hair, and a thick black veil worn after the fashion of the
travelling American.
"Just in time, aren't we?" Lady Runton remarked, as she brought the
horses to a standstill. "Help me down, Jack, and look after Miss
Fielding, Sir George. By the bye, have you two met yet?"
Duncombe bowed--he was bareheaded--and held out his hands.
"I saw Miss Fielding for a moment last night," he said, "or rather I
didn't see her. We were introduced, however. What do you think of our
maligned English weather, Miss Fielding?" he asked.
She raised her veil and looked at him deliberately. He had been prepared
for this meeting, and yet it was with difficulty that he refrained from
a start. The likeness of the photograph (it was even at that moment in
his pocket) was wonderful. She looked a little older, perhaps. There
were shadows in her face of which there were no traces in the picture.
And yet the likeness was wonderful.
"To-day at least is charming," she said. "But then I am quite used to
your climate, you know.
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