“I cannot pretend not to know you, Sir Ronald,” she said, “my old opponent. I am glad to see you once again.”
“I will not be called your opponent,” he said, holding the little hand in his. “I was always your devoted slave and adorer.”
“Then slaves must dispute a great deal, if you were a fair specimen, Sir Ronald. You remember Clarice, I mean Miss Severn. Mamma, you are going to remind me that we are all grown up, and must be proper; I shall not forget.”
“You have changed, Miss Severn, more than Lady Hermione has,” he said.
“That means, Clarice, that you have improved, and I have not.” Yet, while she was speaking defiantly, she was looking earnestly at him. How handsome he was—he was no curled and perfumed darling—but with the beauty that descends from long generations. She remembered the mouth that she had thought more beautiful than that of a Greek god; and suddenly her face burned, as she remembered how often he had kissed her and called her his little wife.
Lady Lorriston was summoned to attend to some other visitors. She went away, leaving the three in the summer-house among the roses.
“How beautiful this is,” said Sir Ronald; “how happy I am to be at home again. There is no land so fair and dear as old England. I can hardly realize the change that has come over us all; we parted children and we meet——”
“As children of a larger growth,” interposed Lady Hermione.
“I dared not have said so,” laughed Sir Ronald. “Miss Severn, I am grieved that I have not been able to call upon your mother yet. I shall try to do so to-morrow.”
The girl’s face flushed with pleasure when he spoke to her. Suddenly there came a stronger breath of wind that shook the chestnut trees and rustled in the limes. Lady Hermione looked up as one who hears and loves a familiar sound.