“You would do them too much honour, Lady Sibyl,” he replied—“They are not accustomed to such condescension from great ladies and would not appreciate it. They are paid professionals, and, like many of their class, only become insolent when praised.”
At that moment Diana Chesney came running across the lawn, breathless.
“I can’t see them anywhere!” she declared pantingly—“The dear little darlings! I ran after them as fast as I could; I wanted to kiss one of those perfectly scrumptious boys, but they’re gone!—not a trace of them left! It’s just as if they had sunk into the ground!”
Again Lucio smiled.
“They have their orders,—” he said curtly—“And they know their place.”
Just then, the sun was obscured by a passing black cloud, and a peal of thunder rumbled over-head. Looks were turned to the sky, but it was quite bright and placid save for that one floating shadow of storm.
“Only summer thunder,”—said one of the guests—“There will be no rain.”
And the crowd that had been pressed together to watch the ‘Maypole dance’ began to break up in groups, and speculate as to what diversion might next be provided for them. I, watching my opportunity, drew Sibyl away.
“Come down by the river;”—I whispered—“I must have you to myself for a few minutes.” She yielded to my suggestion, and we walked away from the mob of our acquaintance, [p 269] and entered a grove of trees leading to the banks of that part of the Avon which flowed through my grounds. Here we found ourselves quite alone, and putting my arm round my betrothed, I kissed her tenderly.
“Tell me,” I said with a half-smile—“Do you know how to love yet?”