"Yes?" said Mr. Erwyn. His voice sank to a pleading cadence. "Dear child, am I not worthy of trust?"
There was a microscopic pause.
"I am going to the Pantiles this afternoon," declared Miss Allonby, at length, "to feed the swans."
"Ah," said Mr. Erwyn, and with comprehension; "surely, he, too, is rather tardy."
"Oh," said she, "then you know?"
"I know," he announced, "that there is a tasteful and secluded summer-house near the Fountain of Neptune."
"I was never allowed," said Miss Allonby, unconvincingly, "to go into secluded summer-houses with any one; and, besides, the gardeners keep their beer jugs there—under the biggest bench."
Mr. Erwyn beamed upon her paternally. "I was not, till this, aware," said he, "that Captain Audaine was so much interested in ornithology. Yet what if, even when he is seated upon that biggest bench, your Captain does not utterly lose the head he is contributing to the tête-à-tête?"
"Oh, but he will," said Miss Allonby, with confidence; then she reflectively added: "I shall have again to be painfully surprised by his declaration, for, after all, it will only be his seventh."
"Doubtless," Mr. Erwyn considered, "your astonishment will be extreme when you rebuke him, there above hortensial beer jugs—"