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"I wonder now
if my daughter knows you are so nigh at hand. I don't expect she
do."
He looked out towards the gig wherein Grace sat, her face still
turned in the opposite direction. "She doesn't see us. Well,
never mind: let her be."
Grace was indeed quite unconscious of Fitzpiers's propinquity.
She was thinking of something which had little connection with the
scene before her--thinking of her friend, lost as soon as found,
Mrs. Charmond; of her capricious conduct, and of the contrasting
scenes she was possibly enjoying at that very moment in other
climes, to which Grace herself had hoped to be introduced by her
friend's means. She wondered if this patronizing lady would
return to Hintock during the summer, and whether the acquaintance
which had been nipped on the last occasion of her residence there
would develop on the next.
Melbury told ancient timber-stories as he sat, relating them
directly to Fitzpiers, and obliquely to the men, who had heard
them often before.


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