"Of course; I answered it. Were you not expecting me this evening?"
"Yes: I came out here on purpose to meet you. What I should have said, Philip, was to ask you if you agreed to my proposal."
"And what was that?"
"That we should renew our acquaintance, but for the present both be free."
Arnold stopped in his walk, and again looked earnestly at the slight girl by his side. Her whole face was eloquent—her eyes were bright with suppressed feeling, but her words were measured and cold. Arnold was not a bad reader of character. Inwardly he smiled.
"Frances was a pretty girl," he said to himself; "but I never imagined she would grow into such a beautiful woman."
Aloud he made a quiet reply.
"We will discuss this matter to-morrow, Frances. Now tell me about your father. I was greatly distressed to see by your letter that your mother is dead."
"She died eight years ago, Philip. I am accustomed to the world without her now; at first it was a terrible place to me. Here we are, in the old avenue again. Do you remember it? Let us get under the shade of the elms. Oh, Fluff, you quite startled me!"
Fluff, all in white—she was never seen in any other dress, unless an occasional black ribbon was introduced for the sake of propriety—came panting up the avenue. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her words came out fast and eagerly: