Mr Montaigne called, according to his custom, pretty frequently, and he was quite affectionate in his ways. He and the Honourable Misses Dymcox had long conversations together, after which he used to go, seeming to bless Clotilde and Marie, he was so paternal and gentle—Ruth obtaining, too, her share of his benevolent smiles.
Then, after a good deal of waiting, came a time when Clotilde met Glen alone. The latter did not know that he had Dick to thank for the arrangement; but he it was who made the suggestion to Clotilde, by whom the idea was seized at once, and the very next morning she proposed that Marie and she should have a walk in the gardens directly after breakfast.
“My head aches a good deal, aunties, and a walk will do it good.”
Miss Philippa looked at her sister, and Miss Isabella returned the look.
“Well, my dears, as it is far too early for anyone to be down from London,” said Miss Philippa, “I think you might go, don’t you, sister?”
“Yes, decidedly,” said Miss Isabella; and the young ladies went up to dress, Markes entering the bedroom as they prepared for their walk.
“But you two ain’t going alone?” said the maid.
“Indeed but we are, Markes,” retorted Clotilde.
“But not without your aunts?”
“Yes, of course. How absurd you are!”