"What is it, papa?" she cried eagerly.
"Oh, I am not going to tell you, until we get to your favourite seat among the rocks."
"Then don't let us lose another minute, papa," said Lilian, and they set off.
Away over the breezy hill-side which overhung the sea; away through the furze, the gorse, and the large brake-ferns; away until they had left the pretty villa far behind them, and found themselves in the small sheltered bay where Mr. Smith's boat, the White Lily, was moored.
"It is very calm, may we go out for a little way, papa?"
"Yes, dear," said the artist, as he unfastened the padlock which moored the boat. Then he placed Lilian in the stern, and sprung in himself, taking the oars, and pushing away from the strand.
The setting sun shed a flood of glory over the quiet bay, with its brilliantly coloured rocks, and its shore covered with white pebbles, and fell upon the little boat that danced over the rippling sea, lingering lovingly on the beautiful face of the artist's child as she bent forward to claim the promised secret.
"Now, papa, what is the treat?"
"Well, Lily, you know I have told you about Raymond and Madge."
"Yes, papa; and I was going to have asked how Raymond was, and whether he liked the fruit I sent him, only the thought of the treat put it all out of my head."