Cornelius James rapidly disposed of two peaches and a pear while Graeme stood watching him with a smile lurking about the corners of his mouth.
"Better take some back for the other sprites," he said, and gathered four peaches. "Here you are—two each. Shove 'em in your pockets."
Cornelius James gravely accepted the gift, and prepared to depart.
"Thanks awfully," he said, and hesitated. "I say, would you mind if I took one back for Miss Mayne? She loves peaches."
"I'd forgotten Miss Mayne," he said. "Of course she can have some. Here! Where's your cap?" He selected and picked the fruit with a preoccupied air, then suddenly; "Does—does Miss Mayne play hide and seek?"
Cornelius James nodded. "She plays everything," he said with enthusiasm. "You wait!"
They had regained the terrace and stood looking out across the smiling countryside.
"You haven't seen Miss Mayne yet, have you?"
"No," said Graeme. He stood motionless for a minute after his visitor had departed, watching the small figure dwindling in the distance. Then drawing the letter from his pocket he opened and read it. It was a formal acceptance of half a dozen lines written in a clear, round, rather girlish hand and signed "Claire Mayne." But the reader scrutinised it as if it had been a photograph, and re-read it twice ere he replaced it in his pocket and walked slowly back to the house.
"I wonder what she looks like," he said, musing, and then remembered rather uneasily that he had omitted to mention to his visitor the absence of the mistress of the household. In the hall he encountered the housekeeper.