I had gone but a little way when I caught sight of two distant
figures walking slowly across the lawn, and recognised Lisbeth
and Mr. Selwyn. The sight of him here and at such a time was
decidedly unpleasant, and I hurried on, wondering what could
have brought him so early.
Beneath Lisbeth's favourite tree, an ancient apple-tree so gnarled
and rugged that it seemed to have spent all its days tying itself
into all manner of impossible knots - in the shade of this tree, I
say, there was a rustic seat and table, upon which was a work-basket,
a book, and a handkerchief. It was a large, decidedly masculine
handkerchief, and as my eyes encountered it, by some unfortunate
chance I noticed a monogram embroidered in one corner - an extremely
neat, precise monogram, with the letters F. S. I recognised it at
once as the property of Mr. Selwyn.
Ordinarily I should have thought nothing of it, but to-day it was
different; for there are times in one's life when the most foolish
things become pregnant of infinite possibilities; when the veriest
trifles assume overwhelming proportions, filling and blotting
out the universe.
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