"No insubordination," interrupted Grace, rising with alacrity.
"Certainly I can, papa," and as she paused near Graham, she murmured:
"Don't object; it will please papa."
She showed what a provident housekeeper she was, for they all soon sat down to an inviting repast, of which fruit was the staple article, with cake so light and delicate that it would never disturb a man's conscience after he retired. Then with genial words and smiles that masked all heartache, Graham and his aunt said good-night and departed, Hilland accompanying his friend, that he might pour out the long-delayed confidence. Graham shivered as he thought of the ordeal, as a man might tremble who was on his way to the torture-chamber, but outwardly he was quietly cordial.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FRIENDS
After accompanying Mrs. Mayburn to her cottage door, the friends strolled away together, the sultry evening rendering them reluctant to enter the house. When they reached the rustic seat under the apple-tree, Hilland remarked: "Here's a good place for our—"
"Not here," interrupted Graham, in a tone that was almost sharp in its tension.
"Why not?" asked his friend, in the accent of surprise.
"Oh, well," was the confused answer, "some one may be passing—servants may be out in the grounds. Suppose we walk slowly."
"Graham, you seem possessed by the very demon of restlessness. The idea of walking this hot night!"
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter," Graham replied, carelessly, although his face was rigid with the effort; and he threw himself down on the rustic seat. "We are not conspirators that we need steal away in the darkness. Why should I not be restless after sitting in the hot cars all day, and with the habit of tramping fresh upon me?"