"But why didn't you write to me?" demanded Arthur.
"It had been such a long time since we saw each other. How did I know that you still cared?"
"But how could I stop caring—about you?"
"Couldn't you?"
"Why, I didn't even try," said Arthur. "I just gave it up as a bad job. But how, in the name of all that's good and blessed, do you happen to be in this particular place at this particular time? Did you, by any chance, come by way of the heavens in a 'sweet chariot'? I came to eject trespassers, and I find you!"
"And I came to spy on you, Arthur, and to find out if you still cared. And if you didn't, I was going to tie a stone round my neck and lie down in the lake. Of course, if I'm a trespasser——"
They had moved slowly away from the shore toward the tents. From one of these a languid, humorous voice that made Arthur start hailed them. And through the fly of the tent was thrust a beautiful white hand and the half of a beautiful white arm.
"I can't come out, Arthur," said the voice; "but good-morning to you, and how's the family?"
"Of all people in the world," exclaimed Arthur; "my own beautiful mamma!" And he sprang to the extended hand and clasped it and kissed it.
"Your excellent stepfather," said the voice, "is out walking up an appetite for breakfast. I hope you will be very polite to him. If it hadn't been for him, Cecily would have stayed in London, where we found her. He wormed her secret out of her and brought her to you as a peace-offering."