Lionel said solemnly:
“May God deal with me, Joyce, as I deal with you.”
Soon they wandered from the rosy present into a future dark with clouds. Lionel made sure that he could tackle the Parson. He spoke with entire frankness of his father.
“He will be disappointed, dearest; we must face that. He may withhold his consent, growl and bark, but he will come round.”
“And Lady Margot? She wants you, Lionel. She couldn’t hide that from me.”
Lionel blushed.
“If she wants me, and I won’t admit it, either to myself or you, it is because she loves excitement and change. She may think she wants me. She ought to marry a swell—a personage. I shall tell her about you to-morrow. We are hunting together.”
“When will you tell the Squire and Lady Pomfret?”
His face grew distressed.
“Joyce, darling, I hate to ask this of you. I—I hope I’m not a coward. But I must seize the right moment. I shall talk with dear old Fishpingle, who knows father better than he knows himself. And because it would be such folly not to use ordinary discretion will you, too, keep this wonderful news from your father till I have spoken to mine?”