It was merely an
intuitive divination. She could not have found any basis from which to
argue the point. But she was very sure that she would not have changed
places with the woman in the carriage, and her hand stole out and gave
his a shy little squeeze.
"Look," she murmured; "here's another of the plutocrats. One of my
esteemed employers, if you please. You'll notice that he's walking and
looking at things just like us ordinary, everyday mortals."
Barrow glanced past her, and saw a rather tall, middle-aged man, his
hair tinged with gray, a fine-looking man, dressed with exceeding
nicety, even to a flower in his coat lapel, walking slowly along the
path that bordered the pond. He stopped a few yards beyond them, and
stood idly glancing over the smooth stretch of water, his gloved hands
resting on the knob of a silver-mounted cane.
Presently his gaze wandered to them, and the cool, well-bred stare
gradually gave way to a slightly puzzled expression. He moved a step
or two and seated himself on a bench. Miss Weir became aware that he
was looking at her most of the time as she sat casting the bits of
bread to the swans and ducks. It made her self-conscious.
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