Kalliope attempted some excuse of putting away designs, but presently peeped from the window, and Gillian, with excited curiosity, imitated her, and beheld, lingering about, a young man in the pink of fashion, with a tea-rose in his buttonhole and a cane in his hand.
‘Oh, Kally,’ she cried, ‘does he often hang about like this waiting for you?’
‘Not often, happily. There! old Mr. Stebbing has come out, and they are walking away together. We can go now.’
‘So he besets you, and you have to keep out of his way,’ exclaimed Gillian, much excited. ‘Is that the reason you come to the garden all alone on Sunday?’
‘Yes, though I little guessed what awaited me there,’ returned Kalliope; ‘but we had better make haste, for it is late for you to be returning.’
It was disappointing that Kalliope would not discuss such an interesting affair; but Gillian was sensible of the danger of being so late as to cause questions, and she allowed herself to be hurried on too fast for conversation, and passing the two Stebbings, who, no doubt, took her for a ‘hand.’
‘Does this often happen?’ asked Gillian.
‘No; Alec walks home with me, and the boys often come and meet me. Oh, did I tell you that the master wants Theodore to be a pupil-teacher? I wish I knew what was best for him.’
‘Could not he be an artist?’
‘I should like some one to tell me whether he really has talent worth cultivating, dear boy, or if he would be safer and better in an honourable occupation like a school-master.’