XV
AN OLD RUSE
Macloud found Miss Carrington plucking a few belated roses, which, somehow, had escaped the frost.
She looked up at his approach, and smiled—the bewilderingly bewitching smile which lighted her whole countenance and seemed to say so much.
“Back again! to Clarendon and its master?” was her greeting.
“And, if I may, to you,” he replied.
“Very good! After them, you belong to me,” she laughed.
“Why after?” he inquired.