So intent was she upon her thoughts that she did not notice the approach of Master Wilcox himself, walking with rapid step down the trim garden path; in fact he had been watching her for some minutes in a lover's rapture, before she raised her eyes and noted his presence. Then he sprang eagerly to her side.
"Ah! Prue; sweetheart," he cried, with outstretched arms. "I hoped I might chance on you here, and yet indeed I scarce dared to hope it."
Prue slipped quickly aside from the proffered embrace. "Good-evening, Master Robert," she answered with a demure assumption of indifference. "And pray what may be your errand to me?"
Robert's hands fell to his side; he stared at her in amazement.
"Why, Prue, my darling," he exclaimed.
Prudence eyed him coldly.
"'Tis a fine evening, Master Robert, and I was enjoying the silence and solitude of the garden. Prithee then—your errand?"
Robert hesitated a moment, then he seated himself upon the bench beside her, and laid his hand on hers.
"Come sweetheart, what is wrong?" he demanded resolutely.
"Nought that I know of," she answered calmly, withdrawing her hand, "saving only that methinks you are somewhat free with your 'sweetheart' and 'darling,' Master Wilcox."