Dolly was all alone.
There was no dragon guarding her, and she might wander unwatched about the garden, unvexed by the family tyrant's whim. However, she sat forlornly under the willow tree.
She was disappointed at not being allowed to go and visit Mrs. Cockburn, but, queerly enough, it had hurt her more to find her refusal met by that urgent invitation to Georgiana. It was a much warmer letter. Mrs. Cockburn had been told in inviting Georgiana to say whatever would bring her, and she had according written—"Freddy says she must come," twice.
They were ringing in Dolly's ears, these impetuously written words; but she had not any right to be angry—and hardly any right to be sad. Only, if that message had been in her letters, she would have defied them all.
The sun burnt down over all the garden, except under the sad green shade of the willow tree. Afterwards, it sank lower and lower behind the beeches until it was almost dusk. It was then that Dolly heard a familiar whistle.
She started up from the grass, and her wistful face was scarlet. It must be imagination.
Almost before she knew it she was hurrying up the path.
"Oh!" she gasped, finding herself at the gate, and ready to turn and fly as the strange whistler came in sight. Her heart beat too fast for her to hear any step. As if it could be him!
"Dolly!" he cried, in a voice of triumph.
"How did you get here?" she panted.