“I understand; of course you’d like to be alone—after all this. I’ll go and tell the squire——” he said, smothering a sigh of disappointment.
She turned on him quickly.
“You will not tell him——”
“About our bargain? No, trust me,” he said, with a sharp smile and a gleam of cunning in his small eyes. “Good-by, then, till——”
He waited for her to fix a time, but she merely murmured “Good-by,” and with a wistful glance at her, he left the room.
She stood looking out at the bright flowers, her face pale, and wearing the rapt, preoccupied expression it had borne all through the interview. Then, as she heard the door open, she forced a smile to her lips, and turned with her back to the window to receive her father.
“Olivia!” he said, coming to her quietly. “Is this true?”
“That I am engaged to Mr. Bradstone, papa?” she said, with an unnatural cheerfulness. “Quite true. Has he told you?”
“Yes; the poor fellow is half mad with joy; I never saw him so—but let me look at you!”
And he took her in his arms and looked at her searchingly.