— VI —DORIS RETURNS FROM HER WALK
For November, the next morning was unusually fine. Miss Owen was up and out betimes. She had the Englishwoman’s cup of tea and bread and butter in her bedroom, and told the maid if she was not back to breakfast to explain that she had a slight headache, and had gone for a long walk. She tramped twelve miles, in a fashion which did credit to her pedestrian powers; when she returned to Glynde, so far from showing any signs of fatigue, she looked as if the exercise had done her good. There was a flush on her cheeks and a light in her eyes, both of which became her very well. And if her hair was a little blown by the breeze, that was not unbecoming either.
One could not but suspect that that was Alan Thurston’s opinion, by the fashion in which he stood and w
