‘I always fancy it such a black, hideous place. I have only once been in Lancashire, when I passed through Preston with my father on our way to Scotland, years ago.’
‘Then you passed not a hundred miles from Wellfield,’ he rejoined with some animation. ‘But I own, you could not be favourably impressed with what you saw there. It is not lovely. But Wellfield is.’
‘Perhaps I may see it some day—who knows?’ said Sara, musingly.
‘I am sure I hope you may,’ he answered quickly. ‘There is nothing I should so much——’
He paused abruptly. Sara felt her face flush, and said quickly:
‘Would not you like to come down this side-walk—this ilex walk? The countess has spent a great deal of care and attention upon it, in remembrance of the ilexes of Rome.’
‘Ah, the ilexes at Rome! I remember them,’ he said, as he followed her into the cool green gloom of the ilex walk, where daylight was dimmed by the intertwining boughs which formed a roof above.
Three quarters of an hour later they returned to the same spot, and found that it was almost dark. The windows of the Schloss blazed with lights, and the music which streamed out on the air said that the dancing had begun.
‘What a long time we must have been out!’ said Sara, in a dreamy voice. ‘They are dancing.’
‘So they are. Will you give me this waltz?—it is a waltz, I hear.’