"I will—Do you know," her color deepened rosily, "they all call you 'Darling'; I have never heard your own name."
"My name is David," Lestrange said quietly, and kissed her for farewell.
The earth danced under Emily's feet as she ran across the lawns, the sun glowed warm, the brook tinkled over the cascades in a very madness of mirth. At the head of the veranda steps she turned to look once more at the roof of the white pavilion among the locust trees.
"Uncle will like you when he knows you," she laughed in her heart. "Any one must like you."
The servant she met in the hall said that Mr. Bailey had gone out, and Mr. Ffrench also, but separately, the former having taken the short route across toward the factory. That way Emily went in pursuit, intending to overtake him with her pony cart.
But upon reaching the stables, past which the path ran, she found Bailey himself engaged in an inspection of the limousine in company with the chauffeur.
"You'll have to look into her differential, Anderson," he was pronouncing, when the young girl came beside him.
"Come, please," she urged breathlessly.
"Come?" repeated Bailey, wheeling, with his slow benevolent smile. "Sure, Miss Emily; where?"
She shook her head, not replying until they were safely outside; then: