"What could have taken him to Yorkshire?"
"He came on business."
"But what business?"
"How do I know? Some business of papa's, or of George Sheldon's, perhaps. And yet that can't be. He is writing a book, I think, about geology or archaeology—yes, that's it, archaeology."
"Valentine Hawkehurst writing a book on archaeology!" cried Miss Paget.
"You must be dreaming, Charlotte."
"Why so? He does write, does he not?"
"He has been reporter for a newspaper. But he is the last person to write about archaeology. I think there must be some mistake."
"Well, dear, it may be so. I didn't pay much attention to what he said about business. It seemed so strange for him to be there, just as much at home as if he had been one of the family. O, Di, you can't imagine how kind aunt Dorothy and uncle Joe were to him! They like him so much—and they know we are engaged."
Miss Halliday said these last words almost in a whisper.
"What!" exclaimed Diana, "do you mean to say that you have promised to marry this man, of whom you know nothing but what is unfavourable?"