"I hope you will," said Helen. "But I wish that you felt sufficiently rested to come with me into the garden. I should like you to see how lovely it is."
"I wish that I did, but I don't. Pray go yourself, however. You must not let me begin my visit by being a bore to you. Miss Morley, pray take her along."
After some little demur, the two girls complied with her request, and with sincere satisfaction Marion watched them disappear down the garden paths. She was very fond of Helen, she told herself and certainly believed; but, none the less, a very moderate amount of Helen's society sufficed to content, and any more to weary her. Just now she felt particularly wearied, as if both mind and body had been on a strain; and, sinking back on the couch, with the vines breathing their rich perfume over her, she remained so still while the shades of twilight began to gather, that any one who discovered her would have had to look very closely.
This was presently proved; for the silence, which had lasted some time, was broken by a quick step—a step which passed across the veranda and entered the hall, where a ringing and hilarious voice soon made itself heard.
"Where is everybody?" it inquired. "Surely I am late enough! I thought they would all be down by this time."
"They've all been down ever so long, Frank," a child's shrill tones replied. "They are out in the garden—Helen and Netta and Cousin Marion."
"Oh, very good! Come along, Jock, and let us find them," said Mr. Frank Morley. "Has your cousin Paul been here yet?"
"No—not yet."
"Ah, better still! We are before him, then. I shall go and welcome Helen over again, and take a kiss before she can prevent it."
"Then she'll box your ears—I saw her do it once!" cried Jock, in glee. "Oh! yes; I'll come along with you, Frank."