This was the children’s day, a great school feast for all the parishes round, to be followed by a children’s dance in the evening. Cheriton arrived in the midst of a grand tea in the park, and pausing to detect his relations, perceived Alvar looking even unusually tall, stately, and graceful, as he walked along a row of the very tiniest children, and filled their mugs with milk and water from a huge can. He looked up as he came to the end, and saw Cheriton’s laughing eyes fixed full upon him.
“Ah! Cheriton!” he exclaimed, “you are here, and with all your honours! Welcome.”
“Thanks; I knew you would be pleased. So you are making yourself useful. Where’s my father?”
“In the tent with Lady Milford. I will show you.”
Cheriton was inclined to think it a great bore to find his own people surrounded by strangers, and was ashamed of the congratulations which the circumstances of his arrival and the warm-heartedness of his hosts called forth. So he and his father hardly said a word to each other, though they experienced a great content in being together; perhaps a more uncommon ending to a university career than Cherry’s honours, even had they been doubled.
“Come, Lester,” said Lord Milford, “and make yourself useful. I know you are great at sack-races, and three-legged races, and such diversions.”
“After being up all night? Well, as long as I am not expected to jump in a sack myself—” said Cheriton. “Come, Alvar, don’t you want another can of milk and water?”
“All! you laugh at me,” said Alvar contentedly. “I am too glad to see you to care. This fête is very pleasant. I am glad you came back in time for it.”
“Yes; but I wish we were all at home,” said Cheriton absently, and looking anxiously round him. He soon discovered Virginia, much in her element among a crowd of school-girls; and at length his eyes found the object of their search. A little apart on a bench sat Ruth in the most delicate of white muslins, gloves, fan, and ribbons, all in first-rate order, looking, with the fantastic fashion, and brilliant dashes of colour in her dress, like a figure on a fan. She gave a little start as she saw Cheriton’s figure in the distance, and her flush of disappointment as he came nearer was at once noted by him, and—misinterpreted.
“So you have got your laurels?” she said softly, as she held out her hand, and looked up in his face. “I am glad.”