"True; but, on reflection, they will be crowded with holiday tourists, many of whom I shall probably know. Abroad I shall be free, for I shall be unknown."
"I suppose you will be back for the hunting season," said Travers.
"I think not. I do not hunt foxes."
"Probably we shall at all events meet in London," said Travers. "I think, after long rustication, that a season or two in the bustling capital may be a salutary change for mind as well as for body; and it is time that Cecilia were presented and her court-dress specially commemorated in the columns of the 'Morning Post.'"
Cecilia was seemingly too busied behind the tea-urn to heed this reference to her debut.
"I shall miss you terribly," cried Travers, a few moments afterwards, and with a hearty emphasis. "I declare that you have quite unsettled me. Your quaint sayings will be ringing in my ears long after you are gone."
There was a rustle as of a woman's dress in sudden change of movement behind the tea-urn.
"Cissy," said Mrs. Campion, "are we ever to have our tea?"
"I beg pardon," answered a voice behind the urn. "I hear Pompey" (the Skye terrier) "whining on the lawn. They have shut him out. I will be back presently."
Cecilia rose and was gone. Mrs. Campion took her place at the tea-urn.