There was a long pause before a voice sounded behind them on the slope—the musical voice of Miss Lottie Vincent.
“Did you ever see such a sentimental couple?” she cried, raising her hands with a very pretty expression of mock astonishment. “Watching the twilight as if you were sitting for your portraits, while here we have been searching for you over hill and dale. Have we not, Mr. Glaston?”
Mr. Glaston thought it unnecessary to corroborate a statement made with such evident ingenuousness.
“Well, your search met with its reward, I hope, Miss Vincent,” said Oswin.
“What, in finding you?”
“I am not so vain as to fancy it possible that you should accept that as a reward, Miss Vincent,” he replied.
The young lady gave him a glance that was meant to read his inmost soul. Then she laughed.
“We must really hasten back to good Mamma Crawford,” she said, with a seriousness that seemed more frivolous than her frivolity. “Every one will be wondering where we have been.”
“Lucky that you will be able to tell them,” remarked Oswin.
“How?” she said quickly, almost apprehensively.