Sara laughed merrily, and just then a booming strain rolled out from the drawing-room upon the silent air.
"Listen!" she said; "isn't that a fine baritone? That's something from
Offenbach, I think."
"Magnificent!" returned Robert unsuspiciously, thrilling at her light, trustful touch upon his arm. "Who is it? Some friend of the Macons?"
"No, of ours. It is—Mr. Preston Garth."
He started, looked at her, and even in the dusk caught the amused flash of her eye.
"The rascal! Must I then run upon him the very first minute of my meeting you?" he queried tragically.
"Not necessarily—still perhaps, just for politeness' sake, we had better go back and say good-night to him. I think they have finished now, the music seems to have ceased."
They turned back towards the house just as Molly, who, with Mr. Garth, had now come out upon the veranda, cried excitedly,
"Why, she's gone. Sara! Sara! Where are you?"
"I am here, Molly," advancing with her companion, "here with—Mr.
Glendenning."