They speedily parted, however, and flew up, and were seen no more.
"That's the end of what is called love!" said some one.
The speaker was neither Grace nor Fitzpiers, but Marty South, who approached with her face turned up to the sky in her endeavor to trace the birds.

Suddenly perceiving Grace, she exclaimed, "Oh, Miss Melbury! I have been following they pigeons, and didn't see you.

And here's Mr.Winterborne!" she continued, shyly, as she looked towards Fitzpiers, who stood in the background.
"Marty," Grace interrupted.

"I want you to walk home with me--will you?
Come along." And without lingering longer she took hold of Marty's arm and led her away.
They went between the spectral arms of the peeled trees as they lay, and onward among the growing trees, by a path where there were no oaks, and no barking, and no Fitzpiers--nothing but copse-wood, between which the primroses could be discerned in pale bunches.

"I didn't know Mr.Winterborne was there," said Marty, breaking the silence when they had nearly reached Grace's door.
"Nor was he," said Grace.
"But, Miss Melbury, I saw him." "No," said Grace.