“You’re very hospitable, but—”
“No buts: I will take no excuse. Don’t fear that you shall have only mutton-chops and a rice-pudding; and, besides, I have a children’s party coming at two o’clock, and there will be all sorts of fun. You are fond of children, I am sure?”
“I rather think I am not. But I have never clearly ascertained my own inclinations upon that subject.”
“Well, you shall have ample opportunity to do so to-day. And oh! I promise you the sight of the loveliest face that you can picture to yourself when you think of your future wife.”
“My future wife, I hope, is not yet born,” said Kenelm, wearily, and with much effort suppressing a yawn. “But at all events, I will stay till after two o’clock; for two o’clock, I presume, means luncheon.”
Mrs. Braefield laughed. “You retain your appetite?”
“Most single men do, provided they don’t fall in love and become doubled up.”
At this abominable attempt at a pun, Mrs. Braefield disdained to laugh; but turning away from its perpetrator she took off her hat and gloves and passed her hands lightly over her forehead, as if to smooth back some vagrant tress in locks already sufficiently sheen and trim. She was not quite so pretty in female attire as she had appeared in boy’s dress, nor did she look quite as young. In all other respects she was wonderfully improved. There was a serener, a more settled intelligence in her frank bright eyes, a milder expression in the play of her parted lips. Kenelm gazed at her with pleased admiration. And as now, turning from the glass, she encountered his look, a deeper colour came into the clear delicacy of her cheeks, and the frank eyes moistened. She came up to him as he sat, and took his hand in both hers, pressing it warmly. “Ah, Mr. Chillingly,” she said, with impulsive tremulous tones, “look round, look round this happy, peaceful home!—the life so free from a care, the husband whom I so love and honour; all the blessings that I might have so recklessly lost forever had I not met with you, had I been punished as I deserved. How often I thought of your words, that ‘you would be proud of my friendship when we met again’! What strength they gave me in my hours of humbled self-reproach!” Her voice here died away as if in the effort to suppress a sob.
She released his hand, and, before he could answer, passed quickly through the open sash into the garden.