"They surprised Denys by suddenly joining him."
"I say," Donald began, without giving him time to speak, "I don't think you need be worried,—I've known Barbara a good long time, and I've never known her to be so absent-minded before."
To say that Denys was startled is keeping strictly within the limits of truth, and at first he was not sure whether he felt angry or amused. But he had grown pretty well accustomed to Donald and Frances by this time, and after a moment of embarrassment accepted the situation. "Thank you," he said, "it is kind of you to take an interest in—me."
"Not at all," Frances said graciously, "we think it's really rather hard lines on you, as, of course we knew all along you wanted to marry Barbara."
"By jove!" muttered Denys a little helplessly.
"Yes, of course," Donald put in. "Anybody sensible would want to do that. If I hadn't been her brother I should have. But though it's rather rough on you, I think two months' absence in America will just be the thing for Barbara."
The young man gazed at his youthful adviser, and was so overpowered that he could think of nothing to say.
"When do you go?" Donald continued.
"Next week. I'm coming back in six weeks—not two months—for my uncle's wedding," said Denys, finding his voice.
There was a pause, and Frances, seeing from her brother's expression that he was deep in thought, forbore to make any remark until she saw him smile, then she said—
"Well, Donald?"
But her brother addressed himself to Denys—
"Considering you've been here a good time now," he said, "you haven't seen much of the country really. Suppose you came for a long walk on the moor to-morrow with Frances and me—and Barbara?"
Denys' eyes lighted up. "If Barbara will, I shall be charmed," he said.
"I think she'll come," Donald said cheerfully; and moved by some persuasion or force Barbara consented, and the four started off across the moors.
They started together—that was certain—but did not return in the same manner, for Donald and Frances had got most thoroughly lost, although as Donald said, with a grin, "he had walked that moor, man and boy, for the past six years."
But when the two truants returned they did not seem at all cast down by their misfortune, while Denys certainly came back in a more cheerful mood than that in which he had set out.
"I think you'll find things all right when you come back again," Donald whispered on the morning the visitors were to go, and Denys, nodding, gripped his hand so tightly that the boy winced.
"I think," said Frances, as she watched the carriage disappearing—"I think, Donald, Aunt Anne ought to be very thankful she was so generous. She has been rewarded, hasn't she, in finding Uncle Morton?"
"Yes, virtue has had its reward. But you know, Frances, I think we're being rather generous too."
"Yes?" Frances said interrogatively.
"Well, the end will be that we lose Barbara, and we haven't raised a finger to prevent it—on the contrary we've helped—and you know we're never likely to find another sister like her."
"No, of course not. But all the same a wedding—and I suppose there'll be two—will make a grand finale like the 'Codas' you have in marches."
"Yes. You're really rather poetical, Frances. And perhaps by the time you're ready for France another aunt will turn up to take you there."
"I hope so, though they can't always expect to find Uncle Mortons as a reward. But there's time enough to think of that; and at any rate, Don, I'm going to be bride's-maid at the wedding."
"Yes," said Donald. "And there'll be two wedding cakes running, Fran—think of that!"