Nevertheless, as they spun along the smooth road in the summer sunshine, Grace cast more than one speculative glance about her, trying to glean some faint hint of their destination. Although conversation went on briskly between herself and her Fairy Godmother, her keen eyes lost no detail that might possibly furnish her with a clue.
"We'll have to leave the car here and walk a little way," announced Tom, when half an hour later, after traveling the highway that skirted Upton Wood, he slowed down in a shady spot on the other side of the short stretch of forest.
"Very well," came Mrs. Gray's placid voice from the tonneau. "I shall not leave the car, Tom. You may do the honors."
"Come on, Grace." Leaving the driver's seat, Tom opened the door of the tonneau and stretched forth an inviting hand.
"I know where we are going," she cried triumphantly, as she accepted the proffered assistance. "We are going to take a look at Upton Heights. How nice! I haven't seen the quaint old place since I came home from college. You know I've always loved it and wished I owned it. It's such a wonderful forest retreat. When I was a little girl, I used to love to play that the world ended there. I always called it the House Behind the World."
Further mysterious and affectionate eye-signals were flashed between Mrs. Gray and Tom as Grace made this fervent speech. "Come and look at it again," said Tom briefly. There was a touch of exultation in his even tones.
Hand in hand, like two children, the youthful pair swung gayly along the narrow path that led from the highway to picturesque Upton Heights. Nearing it, they became suddenly silent in the face of its undeniable claim to beauty. Dazzlingly white against the magnificent trees which surrounded it, it stood in the middle of a grassy plateau that rolled gently down to the woodland path in long sloping green terraces.
"How beautiful it looks!" Grace gazed almost reverently at the rambling old house with its wide, high-pillared verandas. It was like some gracious, stately person whose very watchword was hospitality, she thought. Built more than a century before, by a long-since departed Upton, it had not been used as a residence by his descendants. Due to a clause of command in the original owner's will, it had ever afterward been sedulously kept in repair. To her beauty-loving soul, it now seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. The house itself rejoiced in a fresh white luster and the grounds showed recent care.
"It was nice in you to bring me here, Tom," she again said. "You knew I loved this old place, didn't you?"
"Yes. Suppose we go closer to it," suggested Tom, drawing her gently forward.