"Of course," answered Lady Lyndwood's sweet vague voice. "I always think of him as coming from Paris—as if he had come straight from there"—she laughed aimlessly. "I wish Rose had been here," she added. "I swear I feel quite nervous."
"Rose comes to-morrow," repeated the younger lady.
A little pause, then the Countess spoke again.
"The place looks very well, does it not? though perhaps after the gaieties of the Continent——"
"Here he is," interrupted Miss Chressham.
Down the dusky glimmer of road came the sound of a hurrying horse.
The Countess advanced impulsively down the steps. A rider galloped up through the twilight—a slender young man in a travelling cloak was kissing Lady Lyndwood, laughing and breathless, before Miss Chressham had freed her skirt from a long rose bough.
"Susannah!" He held out his hand as she joined them. "May I still kiss her?" he asked his mother.
"Yes, Marius," smiled Miss Chressham; "to-night, at least."