She knew that she was good to look at, that she was rich, and that she had the pick of the county, aye, of the South of England, did she desire to wed.

Perhaps she thought of this, even whilst she laughed at the antics of her bevy of courtiers, all anxious to win her good graces.
Yet even as she laughed, her face suddenly clouded over, a strange, wistful look came into her eyes, and her laughter was lost in a quick, short sigh.
A young man had just crossed the tiny rustic bridge which spanned the ha-ha dividing the flower-garden from the uncultivated park.

He walked rapidly through the trees, towards the skittle alley, and as he came nearer, the merry lightheartedness seemed suddenly to vanish from Lady Sue's manner: the ridiculousness of the two young men at her feet, glaring furiously at one another whilst fighting for her handkerchief, seemed now to irritate her; she snatched the bit of delicate linen from their hands, and turned somewhat petulantly away.
"Shall we continue the game ?" she said curtly.
The young man, all the while that he approached, had not taken his eyes off Lady Sue.

Twice he had stumbled against rough bits of root or branch which he had not perceived in the grass through which he walked.

He had seen her laughing gaily, whilst Squire Boatfield used profane language, and smile with contemptuous merriment at the two young men at her feet; he had also seen the change in her manner, the sudden wistful look, the quick sigh, the irritability and the petulance.
But his own grave face expressed neither disapproval at the one mood nor astonishment at the other.