“Oh, ’licious!” cried Sibyl, “more than ’licious; but what will mother say?”
“Never mind, the coachman will bring you back. Jump up, quick.”
In another instant Sibyl was seated between her father and the coachman. The spirited mare dashed forward, and they bowled down the avenue. Ogilvie’s arm was tight round Sibyl’s waist, he was hugging her to him, squeezing her almost painfully tight. She gasped a little, drew in her breath, and then resolved to bear it.
“There’s something troubling him, he likes having me near him,” thought the child. “I wouldn’t let him see that he’s squeezing me up a bit too tight for all the world.”
The mare seemed to fly over the ground. Ogilvie was glad.
“We shall have a minute or two at the station. I can speak to her then,” he thought. “I won’t tell her that I am going, but I can say something.” Then the station appeared in view, and the mare was pulled up with a jerk; Ogilvie jumped to his feet, and lifted Sibyl to the ground.
“Wait for the child,” he said to the servant, “and take her back carefully to the house.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the man, touching his hat.
Ogilvie went into the little station, and Sibyl accompanied him.
“I have my ticket,” he said, “we have three minutes to spare, three whole precious minutes.”