St. Amant and Oliver were going to shoot this afternoon over land belonging to little Alice Pavely. Laura had let The Chase shooting to a neighbour, and the neighbour, whose name was Buckhurst, had invited the other two to join his shooting party to-day, and to-morrow also. Oliver was coming home to Freshley in between....
The door opened. "Mother, may I come in?"
She turned quickly, all her heart, as always, welcoming him. With a little, unacknowledged pang she told herself that Oliver was growing older, that he was losing the look of buoyancy that he had kept so long. But what a fine, strong, vigorous-looking man he looked!—as he stood there, smiling rather gravely at her.
"Oliver?" she exclaimed, suddenly making up her mind to rush her fence—it was a simile which still often occurred to her—"Oliver, my dear, I want to tell you something. I have promised Lord St. Amant to marry him."
He looked moved and surprised—perhaps more than she had expected him to be. But his answer came instantly: "I am glad, mother. I'm very, very glad! I want to tell you, I've meant to tell you for some time, that I felt I've been very churlish in this matter of Lord St. Amant. He's always been good to me! Very, very good. I owed him a great deal as a boy. Lately, well, mother, you must have noticed it yourself, we've become really friends."
He looked swiftly round the pretty room. Till this morning he had always been here alone with Laura, having eyes only for her. He saw now what a charming room it was—so warm, so cosy too, on this chilly, wintry December day.
He exclaimed: "It will be good to think of you here—wherever I may be——"
She felt a tremor go through her. Somehow she had thought that he meant to settle down in England; he had never said anything about it, but she had thought that that was his intention.
"Is Laura willing to spend a part of every year in Mexico, my dearest?"
He nodded, rather absently, as if the question hardly required an answer.