"Why, yes, certainly, if she takes quinine regularly. It is a beautiful neighbourhood. She can either ride her mule or be carried in a machila."
Diana clapped her hands, feeling her point was won easily, and then added, "Couldn't we take Mr. Stanley with us? He would so love the shooting, and he is such good company."
"As I came past to-night I called in and asked both him and Major Carew. Stanley accepted at once."
There was a slight movement where Meryl sat, but she did not speak; and her father, almost as if with intent, kept his eyes turned away.
"What did Major Carew say?" asked Diana.
"He was uncertain. He thought he might be obliged to go to Edwardstown on business, and he left the question open."
Diana laughed. "He wanted to make quite certain sure that there were to be no ladies in the party."
"I don't know why he should suppose there were likely to be."
"Possibly not, but he is a cautious man. Anyhow, when you tell him I am going he will make ready to start to Edwardstown on business."
So they sat on under the stars, each busy with thoughts. Henry Pym's were a trifle anxious. So little ever escaped his clear eyes that it was not in the least surprising he had seen whither Meryl's mind was trending, almost before she knew of it herself. And much as he admired Major Carew, he feared, with the clear sight of a great love, that indefinable something that stood as a barrier between the man and his outlook upon certain phases of life. Whatever it was, his studied avoidance of social intercourse, and his turning his back so resolutely upon England and all his people there, suggested to the astute man of the world that he had taken out of his life's plan all thought of marriage, and was not very likely to turn from his purpose. Hence the shadow of anxiety in the father's eyes, for his deep knowledge of Meryl told him further that she would neither love lightly nor forget easily.