“By all means,” said the lady mockingly; “but not in my presence, please.”
“Don’t talk twaddle,” exclaimed Rockley, as they passed out of the drawing-room window and across the lawn.
It so happened that Cora Dean had been dancing with a handsome young resident of the place, and, after the dance, he had begged her to take a stroll with him out in the grounds.
“No, no,” she said, amused by the impression made upon his susceptible nature; “that means taking cold.”
“I assure you, no,” he exclaimed rather thickly. “It’s warm and delightful outside. Just one walk round.”
She was about to decline, when she caught Richard Linnell’s eyes fixed upon her and her companion, and, urged by a feeling of coquetry, and a desire to try and move him to speak to her, if it were only to reproach, she took the offered arm, and, throwing a lace scarf over her head, allowed her partner to lead where he would, and that was naturally down one of the darkest grass alleys of the grounds.
“Do you know, Miss Dean,” he began thickly, “I never saw a girl in all my life who—”
“Can we see the sea from the grounds here?” said Cora.
“Yes; lovely view,” he said. “Down here;” and he led her farther from the house. “There, you can see the sea from here, but who would wish to see the sea when he could gaze into the lovely eyes of the most—”
“Is not that an arbour?” said Cora, as they stood now in one of the darkest parts of the garden.