"Mr. Austin says so?"
He nodded.
"Yes; he is more anxious than ever that our engagement should be kept secret, and every time he sees me he talks and lectures me about it. 'He's such a careful man,' as the song says," and he laughed.
Margaret remained silent. What would the days be like in hot and dusty London if she were not to see Blair, not to hear the voice she loved murmuring its passionate devotion in her ears! Her bosom rose with a soft sigh.
"I suppose he is right—yes, he is right," she said. "And we shall meet, if we do meet, as strangers, Blair? But we sha'n't meet, shall we?"
"You are talking nonsense now," he chided her. "Of course we shall. I can take you up the river, up to Cookham and Pangbourne. How delightful it will be!"
"And some of your grand friends will see us, and then——"
"Oh, we'll chance that!" he said, lightly.
"We must chance nothing that may do you an injury, Blair," she said, gravely.
"Oh, Austin will take care that we do nothing imprudent," he said. "He has taken our case in hand, as he says, and we can't do better than put ourselves under his charge. You must paint some of our Thames views, Madge. You must paint one for me. By George! my uncle has got more mother wit in his little finger than I have in the whole of my body! Why didn't I give you a commission for a picture the first moment I knew you were an artist!"