When Jean was alone, she leaned back in her comfortable corner with an air of great contentment. She rested her elbow on the ledge of the seat, and propping her chin in her hand gazed dreamily, unseeingly out across the sunlit lawn. The children were playing under the shade of a widespreading elm, and the clear treble of their young voices was a pleasant accompaniment to her happy thoughts. Now and again, as some look or gesture of Farr's recurred to her with peculiar distinctness, a shy and tremulous joy dawned in her face, and lingered there.
Ah, Jean, such moments are indeed golden, when in your dreams all life seems sweet and fair. Do not hasten the inevitable awakening, for with the realization comes ever a sting to make the heart ache and throb. In after days this peaceful scene will live with you, the memory of its happiness haunt and mock you, until you fain would thrust it from you!
Meanwhile Valentine Farr was making his way down the terraced pathway in search of Jean, his heart strangely stirred with the thought of the sweet voice that would speak to him, of the pair of blue eyes that would welcome him. Then, as he walked blithely on, there fell on him the shadow of a memory fraught with pain. He threw back his head and drew a deep breath, as he squarely faced the difficulties that lay before him. He knew that before he might dare to hope, before he might dare to speak to Jean, there was much that must be told her, and although his heart grew heavy within him, the look of resolution on his grave face betokened a strong determination to overcome all obstacles so far as lay within his power.
He was descending the last terrace when little Gladys ran out from her shady playground and, holding out her arms to him, begged for a ride. He caught her up and swinging her on to his shoulder held her there securely as he hastened on toward the summerhouse, whence he had seen a flutter of Jean's white gown. Gladys was wild with excitement, and her shrill little cries of pleasure roused Jean from her reverie. She shifted her position a little to see what was going on, and then started up and moved forward to the arched doorway of the summerhouse and stood waiting for them. From her elevated position, Gladys waved frantically to her and then flung her arms tightly around Farr's neck.
"That is hot work, little one," he declared with a laugh, as he deposited the child on the ground and raised his hat to Jean.
"Oh, it was grand!" cried Gladys, capering around and shaking her golden curls into a tangled mass.
Jean smiled and extended her hand to Farr, but her words were for Gladys.
"I have not a doubt of it, darling," she said, "but I fear Mr. Farr found you a very heavy load to carry this hot day."
Gladys' head drooped, and she gave Farr a shy glance from out of the corners of her eyes.
"Was I vewy heavy?" she asked, in such a plaintive little voice that he had hard work to keep his face straight as he hastened to reassure her.