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tanned to a rich honey-colour which was greatly enhanced by the vivid blue of the tweeds she wore. Susan’s experienced eye told her that the suit was both good and in perfect taste. The colour, too, was exclusive and had obviously come from one of the big couture houses which she knew so well. It was the clear, strong blue of the river flowing beneath the bridge on such a day as this, with the reflection of the sky in it.
    It was difficult for her to keep her eyes off the girl’s arresting figure as she waited her opportunity to cross the street. She stood out from the crowd, like a bright star in a blurred firmament, her ash-blonde hair shining like silver-gilt in the sun.
    When her companion finally got out of the car Susan wished herself miles away. There could be no mistaking that tall, commanding figure whose eagle glance picked her out immediately, and for no very good reason she was recalling their first encounter when he had swooped down upon her from the Hunter’s Crags, like a hawk who sees his prey from a distance and loses no time in manoeuvre before the attack.
    Deliberately she turned in the opposite direction, but not before she had seen the brief, sardonic smile which spread across his dark face as he anticipated her flight His companion turned to glance in Susan’s direction as she moved away.
    It was true, then! Maxwell Elliott was firmly installed at Fetterburn, in full possession of the mill. And the tweeds his companion wore might well be a Fetterburn product.
    If it was, they were being shown off to the greatest advantage and in the best possible way, personally and confidently in a town that knew about tweed. They were probably going to the sales or had already been there. She remembered Maxwell Elliott saying that he wanted another mount and couldn’t help wondering if the new, highly-varnished horse-box already had an occupant.
    Hurrying across the Square again at one o’clock, she noticed that the car was still there and was hardly surprised to see Maxwell Elliott in the foyer of the hotel as she looked about for Fergus. He was alone now, but he made no effort to speak to her, and she was glad when Fergus came and they were escorted to their reserved table in the dining-room.
    She could hardly bring herself to ask about Hope’s Star.
    “She brought her price,” Fergus said after a lengthy pause.
    He seemed to be holding back some further piece of information which he thought might upset her, but for a moment she didn’t seem to notice.
    “I’m glad I didn’t go,” she said. “Who bought her, Fergus?”
    “Someone you already know,” he said, taking up his menu-card. “Maxwell Elliott.”
    Her eyes flew to his flushed face.
    “You can’t mean that!” she protested. “Both our horses! Why should he buy Hope’s Star after Bucksfoot?”
    “If you mean why did he buy Hope’s Star it was because he wanted another mount,” Fergus said evenly. “He approached me before the actual sale, as a matter ; of fact. He said the mare was just right for his purpose.”
    “And the price wouldn’t matter,” Susan finished for him, trying to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “Oh, why had this to happen? Why do I feel that I dislike him so much?”
    Fergus considered the point,
    “Possibly because you resent him,” he suggested. “Explain that one, please!”
    “You resent what he may be able to do for Elliott’s.” Fergus beckoned to the waiter. “Sue, it’s no good! He’s come over here to take charge of the Fetterburn mill and, sooner or later, we’ll have to accept him as one of the community.”
    “Later, as far as I’m concerned! I don’t have to like him,” Susan answered.
    They ate their lunch without referring to Hope’s Star or Maxwell Elliott again, but when they passed through the foyer on their way out he was coming in with the tall, fair girl in the blue tweeds. She was clinging to his arm now, chattering to him excitedly, and Susan thought how much younger