“To make three people very happy, my dear, and that I am sure you are going to do.”
“And so am I,” said Mrs Mallow, fondly. “Where is Cyril? Ask him to come to us now.”
“I—I don’t know,” said the Rector, hesitatingly. “I did look round, but not seeing him, I thought he would be here.”
“He did not know. You did not tell him,” said Mrs Mallow.
“That Sage would be here? Oh, no. I left him to find that out,” said the Rector, playfully. “But I am not sorry, my dear, for I feel as if we ought to monopolise some one’s attentions ourselves to-day. The next time she comes we shall be set aside, being only the old folks.”
He smiled at Sage, and in a timid way she smiled back at him; but the same thought was in both their breasts, and each tried to read it through the other’s eyes.
The thought was of Luke Ross, which was agitating them both, for they were thinking of the day when they would have to face him, and give account of that which had been done; and as this dark shadow loomed up in the distance, the question arose—
What shall I say?
Cyril did not put in an appearance that day, and Mr and Mrs Mallow had their visitor entirely to themselves, with the result that when it was time for her to go, all thoughts of pride and differences in caste were gone, Mrs Mallow kissing her very affectionately.
“I can’t come to you, my dear; but you will come to me often—very often—promise me that.”