His absurd pride had kept her under a species of cloud for eighteen years, as a person unknown to the world, and as one even now to be recognised with wonder—yea, perchance with doubt.
The period of her life so longed for, not for its wealth, but when she and her children should take their place in the world as Tresilians, had come at last. There are times when an hour seems long. Oh, then, how long must days, and weeks, and months, appear, when they roll into years? All time passes inexorably, however. While she sat reflecting thus her eldest son was engaged elsewhere, but not, as she thought, with his fishing-rod.
"And you are going to London with your papa?" said he to a fair-haired and blue-eyed girl, who was clad in deep mourning, and who had pulled up her pony in one of the grassy and shady lanes near the unsavoury old fishing town of Padstow.
"Yes, and we leave by the train to-night."
"And I shall see you——"
"Perhaps never again, Arthur," replied the girl, with her face full of smiles and tears, for she was less affected than her lover. "I shall never forget you, Mr. Lydiard, or all the pleasant walks and meetings we have had, by these green lanes, by the Bray-hill above the sea, and ever so many places more."
"And you call me Mr. Lydiard? Oh, Mona, can you leave me so coldly?" he asked, sadly; "may I not write to you in London?"
"Ah, good heavens, no!" she exclaimed, with all a school-girl's terror. "What would mamma say? And then there is papa!"
It was delightful to have a lover; but not delightful that the fact should come to the ears of such a papa as Mr. Basset Tresilian.
"Then I have no hope?"