Paul shook his head. "I don't understand these things; I leave them to those that do."
"I promise to bring her back safely, and I am coming to tea," went on May, gliding over his refusal. "I've never seen that new wing of yours since it was finished. Cottage, indeed! I call it quite a mansion!" with a glance at the addition which had been lately built on to the Macdonald's house, making it about double its original size.
"A mansion you would not care to inhabit, I expect; but it will do capitally for Sally and me," said Paul.
"I'll decide that when I've seen it. Good-bye, then, till we meet later. Tell Dixon to drive to the church, please."
Paul gave the order, and went back to his new sitting-room, seating himself before his office table, as he called the one which was placed in the bow window. He opened his business ledgers, and congratulated himself on the fact of having a long, quiet afternoon of undisturbed work before him; but one more trivial interruption occurred before he was entirely left to himself. Mrs. Macdonald knocked at the door and stood before him arrayed in her Sunday best.
"Shall you be wanting anything, sir?"
"Nothing whatever, Mrs. Macdonald."
"If not, I would like to go to the church to see Miss Sally and the Bishop. I'd slip out quiet before the end, so as not to keep the ladies waiting for their tea."
"Go by all means," said Paul, smiling a little over the commotion created by a Bishop and his lawn sleeves, and a flock of girls in white dresses and caps.
Then his thoughts reverted to Sally's face, with its sweet seriousness of expression, as she had started for the church, and from Sally he passed on to May; and there his mind lingered. She was beautiful—beautiful beyond compare; and to-day there had been an added grace of tenderness in her manner to Sally: a protecting, motherly care, as if she would shield her from his want of sympathy. She seemed so much older than Sally, and yet there were but four years between them.