She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it. Gerald’s breath caught. But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere.
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