“You are Valerie Carr?” he began unceremoniously.
“I am,” but the glint of amusement faded quickly from her eyes, and without knowing why, she got to her feet and faced him.
He went on at once with a cool detached manner that she felt was assumed.
“I didn’t know it was you I was turning off my land this morning. The last person in the world I should wish to be inhospitable to would be a daughter of Dave Carr. But I do detest picnickers messing up my place.”
Valerie found her tongue. “I wouldn’t have messed up anything,” she retorted. “There’s no person on earth who has more respect for a beautiful spot than I have!”
“Well, how could I know that?” His brilliant eyes glared at her. “And anyway, my dear girl, surely a man has a right to one spot on this earth where he can feel himself alone, really alone.”
“I grant you that right,” she cut in curtly, aggrieved at his manner. “I assure you your aloofness is in no danger from me. I didn’t know it was your place.”
Then she saw instantly that he misunderstood her, that something in her tone had lashed that extraordinary entity that was staring at her out of those wonderful eyes. She had seen the black lashes quiver.
“Oh please,” she cried spontaneously, “I didn’t mean that. I mean ———” she stopped confused. They looked at one another for a moment of silence.
She almost forgot she was looking at a man, and stared as if she were looking at a picture. She saw a perfect oval face of arresting whiteness a little tanned by the sun, a face shot through all its sensitiveness with elusive pain. But the features, chiselled with the beauty of an old cameo, had as yet no sign of looseness about them. They were straight, mobile, but firm. He had a lovely mouth, with
