“One he loves, two he loves, three he loves they say,
Four he loves with all his heart, five he casts away,
Six he loves, seven she loves, eight they both love,
Nine he comes, ten he tarries,
Eleven he woos, twelve he marries.”
Sibyl repeated this nonsense with extreme gusto, and when the final petal on the large daisy proclaimed that “twelve he marries,” she flung the stalk at Rochester and laughed gaily.
“I knew you’d have luck,” she said. Then she caught her mother’s warning eye and colored painfully, thus making the situation, if possible, a little more awkward.
“Suppose we go for a row on the river this lovely afternoon,” said Lady Helen, starting up restlessly. She had talked of the coming bazaar, and had wandered through the rooms at Silverbel, and had listened to Mrs. Ogilvie’s suggestions with regard to furniture and different arrangements until she was almost tired of the subject.
Rochester sprang to his feet.
“I can easily get a boat,” he said; “I’ll go and consult with mine host.”
He sauntered across the grounds, and Sibyl, after a moment’s hesitation, followed him. A boat was soon procured, and they all found themselves on the shining silver Thames.
“Is that why our house is called Silverbel?” asked Sibyl. “Is it ’cos we can see the silver shine of the river, and ’cos it is belle, French for beautiful?”
“Perhaps so,” answered the mother with a smile.