Marjolaine and Barbara had retired into the Gazebo. "Yes!" twittered Barbara, continuing their conversation, "he's learnt it! He does surround it with flowers of speech, but he says it quite clearly."
"Dear Doctor Johnson!" cried Marjolaine, laughing, and clapping her hands.
Barbara shuddered reminiscently. "But I cannot bear his eye on me! It's like Charles's. And he is moulting—which more than ever increases the resemblance. Oh, Marjory, he looked at me so coldly all the time I was teaching him!"
"Never mind how he looked, if he'll only talk!"
Barbara embraced her frantically. "How can I ever thank you?"
Basil was standing by the chains that separated the Walk from the river. The melancholy of the evening had entered his soul. Ruth came up to him. He was an idiot, to be sure, yet her heart went out to him in sympathy. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn and Mrs. Poskett were thanking Madame for her hospitality. Jack could be seen peeping impatiently out of Doctor Sternroyd's window, or striding to and fro in the room like a caged tiger at feeding time.
Marjolaine whispered to Barbara. "If you are really and truly grateful, you may be able to help me! I'll tell you a great secret." She drew Barbara close to her. "I am to be married to-morrow!"
Barbara screamed aloud, and all the people in the Walk turned in alarm.
"Is anything the matter?" enquired Miss Ruth, anxiously.
"No, no!" said Marjolaine, laughing. "Yes," she went on, when the others had resumed their conversation, "married secretly to-morrow. Swear you won't tell anybody if you live to be ninety!"