“You mean to stand where you are?”
“Yes—till you’ve gone away.” Now she laughed openly at him. Lynborough delighted in the merry sound and the flash of her white teeth.
“It’s a splendid morning, isn’t it?” he asked. “I should think you stand about five feet five, don’t you? By the way, whom have I the pleasure of conversing with?”
“My name is Norah Mountliffey.”
“Ah, I knew your father very well.” He drew back a few steps. “So you must excuse an old family friend for telling you that you make a charming picture at that gate. If I had a camera—— Just as you are, please!” He held up his hand, as though to pose her.
“Am I quite right?” she asked, humouring the joke, with her merry mischievous eyes set on Lynborough’s face as she leant over the top of the gate.
“Quite right. Now, please! Don’t move!”
“Oh, I’ve no intention of moving,” laughed Norah mockingly.
She kept her word; perhaps she was too surprised to do anything else. For Lynborough, clapping his hat on firmly, with a dart and a spring flew over her head.
Then she wheeled round—to see him standing two yards from her, his hat in his hand again, bowing apologetically.