‘Not a bad afternoon for a ramble on yonder moor,’ said Gerard, standing in the bay window, looking out at the landscape. ‘Would you have the courage to be my pioneer, Miss Clare?’
Celia looked at her brother interrogatively.
‘I’m not in the humour for any more scribbling to-day,’ said Edward, ‘so perhaps a good long walk would be the easiest way of getting rid of the afternoon. Put on your waterproof and clump soles, Celia, and show us the way.’
Celia ran off, delighted at the opportunity. A moorland ramble with a conversable young man was at least a novelty.
In the hall the damsel met her mother, and, in a sudden overflow of spirits, stopped to give her a filial hug.
‘Let us have something nice for dinner, mother dear,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s his last evening.’
The tone of the request inspired Mrs. Clare with vague fears. A girl could hardly have said more had the visitor been her plighted lover.
‘What an idea!’ she exclaimed good-humouredly. ‘Of course I shall do the best I can, but Monday is such an awkward day.’
‘Of course, dear. We all know that, but don’t let it be quite a Monday dinner,’ urged Celia.
‘As for that young man, I don’t believe he knows what he is eating.’