Winterborne sped on his way to Sherton Abbas without elation and
without discomposure. Had he regarded his inner self spectacularly, as
lovers are now daily more wont to do, he might have felt pride in the
discernment of a somewhat rare power in him--that of keeping not only
judgment but emotion suspended in difficult cases. But he noted it
not. Neither did he observe what was also the fact, that though he
cherished a true and warm feeling towards Grace Melbury, he was not
altogether her fool just now. It must be remembered that he had not
seen her for a year.

Arrived at the entrance to a long flat lane, which had taken the spirit
out of many a pedestrian in times when, with the majority, to travel
meant to walk, he saw before him the trim figure of a young woman in
pattens, journeying with that steadfast concentration which means
purpose and not pleasure. He was soon near enough to see that she was
Marty South. Click, click, click went the pattens; and she did not
turn her head.

She had, however, become aware before this that the driver of the
approaching gig was Giles. She had shrunk from being overtaken by him
thus; but as it was inevitable, she had braced herself up for his
inspection by closing her lips so as to make her mouth quite
unemotional, and by throwing an additional firmness into her tread.