"What--is he like?" she went on. Any one observing her at the moment would
have gathered the impression that she was forcing herself to speak with
composure--that it was not easy for her. But Ann, preoccupied with Dick
Turpin's vagaries, was not looking at her.
"Oh, he's tall," she made answer. "And has grey eyes. There's a little
white scar just under one of them."
The woman beside her drew a quick breath.
"Ah"--the sweet, _trainante_ voice was a fraction uneven. "Then it _is_ the
man I've met."
The ralli-cart swung round a corner into a narrow lane, and a quick
exclamation broke from Ann as she recognised in the tall, striding figure
approaching from the opposite direction the man of whom they had just been
speaking. A beautiful thoroughbred collie bounded along beside him, looking
up at his master every now and again with adoring eyes.
"Why, here _is_ Mr. Coventry!" she exclaimed. "Shall I pull up?"
Without waiting for an answer she brought the cob to a standstill exactly
as Eliot, catching sight of them, halted instinctively.
"Good afternoon," she called out gaily, as he lifted his hat. "We were just
speaking of you. Here is an old acquaintance of yours.
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