He looked at her as if the same idea had struck him.
“Am I? Well, I’ve taken a fancy to him, I suppose; at any rate, I should like to know more of him. Ask him, and see what he says.”
Faradeane was sitting at his desk writing, when, the next morning, a groom rode over with the invitation, and he took it and looked at the address, in Olivia’s handwriting, for a good minute before opening the envelope. Then he read the short, formal note, and reread it; got up and lit a pipe, and paced up and down with the letter in his hand, a troubled, wistful expression on his face, an expression of hesitation, over which longing predominated.
“Too late!” he muttered; “too late to draw back now. I have passed the Rubicon, and yet—oh, fool! fool!”
Then he sat down and wrote a formal acceptation.
People did not refuse an invitation to dine at the Grange unless they were positively compelled, for the squire’s dinners were as nearly perfect as they could be; and those who did not set their hearts on the dinner found the prospect of a couple of hours spent in the Grange drawing-room, with Olivia to talk to and perhaps to sing for them, equally irresistible; and all the guests the squire had named to Olivia came up to time on the twenty-ninth.
It was an early dinner, for the entertainment commenced at eight, and all but the squire, whom wild horses would not have drawn out of his house after dinner to an entertainment, were going to Aunt Amelia’s concert.
Annie and Mary Penstone had driven over in the afternoon to snatch a very precious quiet hour with Olivia, and they were both on the tiptoe of feverish curiosity and excitement about the mysterious Mr. Faradeane.
“Is he so very strange, Olly dear?” asked Mary, eagerly, and in a hushed voice. “We hear such extraordinary stories—all invented, of course—but do tell us! What is he like? Of course, we know he is handsome. Annie says that he is the handsomest man she has ever seen; but that’s nonsense while Lord Granville is here. What does he seem like? What does he talk about?”
“Papa could tell you better than I can,” replied Olivia, smiling. “I have only spoken to him once or twice. He has a very pleasant voice and—but you heard him speak at the picnic.”