Gaining the veranda, she leans over the railings and makes a signal to him; it is an old signal. Rylton responds to it, and in a second is by her side.
"Oh no, you must not stay; your mother is waiting for you in the south drawing-room. She saw you coming; she wants you."
"Well, but about what?" asks Rylton, naturally bewildered.
"Nothing—only—she is going to advise you for your good. Shall I," smiling at him in her beautiful way, and laying one hand upon his breast—"shall I advise you, too?"
"Yes, yes," says Rylton; he takes the hand lying on his breast and lifts it to his lips. "Advise me."
"Ah, no!" She pauses, a most eloquent pause, filled with a long deep glance from her dark eyes. "There, go!" she says, suddenly pushing him from her.
"But your advice?" asks he, holding her.
"Pouf! as if that was worth anything." She looks up at him from under her lowered lids. "Well, take it. My advice to you is to come to the rose-garden as soon as possible, and see the roses before they fade out of all recognition! I am going there now. You know how I love that rose-garden; I almost live there nowadays."
"I wish I could live there too," says Rylton, laughing.
He lifts her hand again and presses it fondly to his lips. Something, however, in his air, though it had breathed devotion, troubles Mrs. Bethune; she frowns as he leaves her, and, turning into a side-path the leads to the rose-garden, gives herself up a prey to thought.