'Will L.F. meet F.F. to-day in the N.G. at twelve o'clock?'
'This is evidently an appointment between these two—and in the National Gallery!' said Annabelle. 'Oh, it is intolerable!'
'I must confess that so far as the initials go, it looks as if such an event was on the tapis,' said Mary.
'But this mode of correspondence is surely beneath Fotheringhame?'
'Though not beneath her—it is her request.'
'If married, she would not resort to this. I shall go to the Gallery, humiliating though the act may be.'
'And I too,' exclaimed Mary; 'let the carriage be countermanded—we were to have driven this morning, but we shall set out quietly on foot.'
Attired in dresses and hats of different style and colour from those they usually wore, and Shetland veils tied over their faces—than which there can be no more perfect masque—they set forth on this expedition, which was one of great pain to both, but more particularly to Annabelle.
It was a bright April forenoon, raindrops still rested on the fresh green leaves, and sparkled in the sunshine, early flowers bloomed abundantly in the gardens, perfuming the air, and the young birds were twittering in the trees. Pure and bright, it was a morning calculated to make anyone feel happy without knowing why; but the hearts of both girls were sad, and Mary sighed as she looked at the great masses of the fortress, steeped in the radiant sunshine, and thought of him who was away, she knew not where.
The National Gallery, with its Ionic porticoes, was soon reached by the way of Princes Street, and they entered the western range of saloons, which contain a very valuable collection of paintings by old masters and modern artists. At that early hour they were nearly empty.