This was so in the case of Alden Lytton.
Up to Saturday, the last day but one of his stay at Blue Cliff Hall, the lovers were not engaged.
Rumor, in proclaiming their engagement, had been, as she often is, beforehand with the facts.
But on that Saturday evening, after tea, Alden Lytton found himself walking with Emma Cavendish up and down the long front piazza.
It was a lovely summer night. There was no moon, but the innumerable stars were shining with intense brilliancy from the clear blue-black night sky; the earth sent up an aroma from countless fragrant flowers and spicy shrubs; the dew lay fresh upon all; and the chirp of myriads of little insects of the night almost rivaled the songs of birds during the day. And so the night was filled with the sparkling light of stars, the fresh coolness of dew, the rich perfume of vegetation and the low music of insect life.
The near mountains, like walls of Eden, shut in the beautiful scene.
Alden Lytton and Emma Cavendish sauntered slowly up and down the long piazza feeling the divine influence of the hour and scene, without thinking much about either.
Indeed, they thought only of each other.
They were conscious that this was to be their last walk together for many months, perhaps for years.
Something to this effect Alden murmured.