“Oh! pretty Vi, who could forget you? How I wish you liked me ever so little! Oh! that you were the mistress of Gilroyd!” These were his thoughts as with a smile and a quiet word or two of greeting he took her hand.
“Did you come through London?” asked Miss Wagget.
“No; direct here,” he answered.
“Surprised to find us, I dare say?” and she glanced at Violet. “Our friend here—like a good little creature, as she is—came down to keep me company for a week, and as much longer as I can make her stay, while my brother is at Westthorpe, and you must come over with us to tea.”
William acquiesced.
“And, Winnie Dobbs, you must tell me all you know of that Tummins family at the mill—are they really deserving people?—there was a rumour, you know—young people, do you go out and take a ramble in the lawn, and I’ll join you. Winnie and I must talk for a minute or two.”
So Violet and William did go out, and stood for a minute in the old familiar porch.
“How pretty it looks—always—in the setting sun—it’s the light that suits Gilroyd. There’s something a little melancholy in this place, though cheery along with it—I don’t know how,” said William.
“So do I—I always thought that—like those minuets I used to play, that dear old grannie liked so well—something brilliant and old-fashioned, and plaintive,” replied the sweet voice of Violet Darkwell.
“Come out into the sunlight,” said William. “Oh! how pretty! isn’t it?”