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Mrs. Cunliffe and even Simon had come to regard her
as a junior member of the family; which, she concluded,
was not altogether to her taste, though she couldn't have
said why.
A cool wind blew along the lane, ruffling her hair and
pinking her cheeks. The earth smelted rich and damp and
the leaves rustled together overhead. She liked this par°
ticular walk over Craigwood land, the unexpected twist of
the road which gave a view of thatched and tiled'roofs
some way below, and its perilous descent to the main road.
As she reached the village it occurred to Pat that she
was now nearer to her father's house than to Craigwood,
but he would not be expecting her and she might even
be in the way there if, as was often his habit, he had in-
vited other masters down for tea and a chat.
She had regretfully dedded to tarn back when a man
hastened across the road and held out a detaining hand;
a thickset young man with a preposterous quantity of
curling brown hair and sparkling Brown eyes.
"Miss Gordon!" he exdaimed. "I'm beginning to believe
that thoughts can conjure people. I was hoping quite hard
that we'd meet again soon."
"Were you, Mr. Dyson?"
Pat felt inadequate at the moment to deal with the smil-
ing art master. She had'met him twice before, once at the
cottage and again at the school cricket match. He was nice
and very sincere, but he struck her as a man who needed
looking after. His tie, as usual, was knotted too tightly and
a little askew, and the collar of his cream silk shirt was
crumpled, probably because he bundled his dean laundry i
into any available comer of his wardrobe. For a man of
twenty-eight his air was decidedly unworldly.
"May I walk with you?" he begged.
"I'm only going back to Craigwood."
"As far as the gates, then?"
"If you like."
With a pleased smile he fell into step beside her, awk-
wardly took her arm and just as awkwardly dropped it
again. "You haven't enquired why I was hoping to meet
you," he said.
"Perhaps you're one of those men who hate to leave any-
thing unfinished. You were in the middle of a discourse
upon Restoration portrait painters when we parted last
Saturday."
"Was I? How splendid that you remembered. But how
dare I bore you with such a subject! I can't remember what
I said only that you're a most wonderful listener." He
looked sideways at the pure lines of her face before adding,
f6
"Someone should paint you like' that, all windblown against
a backdoth of summer leaves."
She laughed. "Are you angling for a commission?"
, "Lord, no," he said soberly. "I'm not a real artist; I
only teach the technicalities of art. Though I do believe I'd
make a better job of you than I could or anyone else. Will
you let me make a sketch of you some time?"
"Maybe." Pat could not take him very seriously, but
there was much about him which afforded a relief from
Craigwood. Hugh Dyson pulled at the more maternal of
a woman's heartstrings. "Supposing you tell me why you
wanted to see me."
"Well, it has to do with Craigwood. Your father told
sse there's a picture gallery in the house and that some of
the greatest masters are represented there."
Pat nodded. "The gallery is kept locked, but I daresay
you'd be allowed in. Why don't you approach the bailiff?"
"I have, and he tamed me down. 'I may have been
dumsy in my request. I'm not always tactful." Hugh's shrug
was self-deprecatory. "You see, several of the senior boys
are genuinely interested in old paintings, and it seemed a
pity to me that there should be many examples so near the
school yet unavailable to the pupils. So I asked permission
for myself and six boys to see the Leigh collection. The
bailiff's reply was that he is in charge of fhe house only
when no one is in residence, and that he hardly thought it
necessary to add that the ladies and Mr. Leigh would not
care to have a horde of schoolboys inside the place."
For a minute or so Pat said nothing. She went on climb-
ing at his side and wondering what he expected her to do
about it. His square face was serious and absorbed, and
all at once it came to her that a sight of the Leigh paintings
would mean a great deal to him.
"You think I can help you in some way?" she said.
"You're living there," he answered. "I do realize that
your dealings with Mr. Leigh are similar to mine with the
Head, but you're a woman, and if you were to put it to
him'he'd at least consider the matter."
This statement Pat found vexing. It bore out the gist of
her own earlier reflections that she had become a mem-
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