Stephen was calling to her. She put down her pen and stepped out of the French window. She crossed the lawn with a pleasant rustle of long gray skirts, and he got out of his chair as she came toward him.
"What have you been doing all this long time?"
"Writing to Noel," she answered. "Have I neglected you?"
"I was beginning to think so. Come and take a walk round the garden with me."
"Where is Miss McPherson?"
"She's perpetrating one of her atrocious and painstaking water colors in the lane."
"And you tell her they are beautiful!"