“Miss Ewart!” she exclaimed with a faint touch of American intonation which instantly recalled Evereld to Glion. “I am so delighted to meet you again, and in this spot of all others, this sacred shrine which you lucky English people possess, though we would give millions of dollars if we could but transplant it right over the ocean!”
“How glad I am to see you!” said Evereld warmly. “I shall never forget your kindness last September. May I introduce my husband to you? Mr. Denmead, Miss Upton.”
“Ah,” said Miss Upton shaking hands with him, “I congratulate Mr. Denmead very warmly. And to think that the third volume which you were to have sent me in America should greet me here by the banks of the Avon! It is delightful!”
“You have not gone back as soon as you expected,” said Evereld.
“Well, no. You see the storm at Glion somehow cleared the atmosphere and many things were altered by it sooner or later,” said Miss Upton her bright eyes twinkling with fun. “In fact, thanks to you, another romance began there, and next year when Mr. Lewisham has taken his degree at Oxford, why he’ll be coming over the ocean to New York, and we have an idea of following the good example which you and Mr. Denmead have set us.
“How glad I am!” said Evereld. “That is charming. Some day we all four ought to meet at Glion, for it is hard that I should have any disagreeable associations left with that lovely little place. You ought to see it Ralph.”
“Why not plan a meeting here on one of Shakspere’s birthday’s? We may possibly be here for some of the performances in the Memorial theatre.”
“Yes, that’s a better idea still,” agreed both Evereld and the American girl.
And after walking back to the town together they parted on the best of terms.
That evening a note and a little packet were brought to Evereld. They were from Miss Upton.