And so the "comity sensation," as it was called by Town Optics, died a natural death, and the next social scandal, hurrying close upon its heels, crowded it out of general consideration and recollection.
But those whom it had concerned so nearly could not forget it thus easily; to them it always remained a very vivid and terrible experience, out of which it seemed they had escaped almost by a miracle.
Mrs. Newbold returned at once to her island home, taking Dick Darling with her; and there, after several weeks had elapsed, Mr. Tremain sought her.
He took an early afternoon boat from the city, and walked up from New Brighton to the Folly; where not finding his faithful friend within that Palace of Idleness, and being informed vaguely by Perkins that his mistress was "somewhere about the gardings," Philip, declining his aid, set forth in search of her.
And so it came about that unconsciously his feet followed his memory, for very soon he found himself at the opening of the little hazel copse, where he and Patricia had so nearly touched on reconciliation.
The marble boy Narcissus was still there, and still holding aloft the vase from which the water trickled in a gaily tinkling stream. There, too, was the rustic bench, and seated on it, doing nothing very gracefully, was Esther Newbold.
She jumped up at sight of him and ran forward, dragging her scarlet parasol behind her. Her face was bright with welcome, her smile affectionate and a little patronising.
"My dear Philip, what a pleasure!" she exclaimed, putting out her small hand in a loose gardening glove. "We began to think you had given us up altogether for 'a bad lot,' as my slang-loving Dick would say. Why have you not come before, sir?"
And holding that frank little hand in his, and looking into the sincerity of her blue eyes, Mr. Tremain asked himself the same question, and answered it truly, as he replied:
"Esther, my dear, I did not come, because—I was afraid."