"Now," said the singer, when she had finished, rising from her seat, "you must do what I ask, dear father; I want to walk to the river."
"It's a good step," said Lambert; "and it isn't civil to leave your company."
"But they will come with me. Will you not, Madame Davilliers? and you, Antoinette,—you will, I am sure?" raising her eyes with a confiding glance to Glynn's.
"I shall enjoy a stroll immensely," he replied. Madame, however, preferred to remain where she was, and Vincent offered to stay and play a game of piquet with her to pass away the time.
Evening was fast closing in when they started on their ramble, and the falling dew drew out delicious odors from grass, and flowers, and shrubs, as they proceeded along the avenue which, skirting the bois, led to the river-side. It was longer than Miss Lambert thought, and the moon had risen before they reached the Seine. At first they had kept all together, but gradually Glynn contrived to separate himself and Miss Lambert from the rest. "And so you had not courage enough for the stage," he said, after a short pause in their conversation.
"No; I suppose it is want of courage that holds me back—a sort of constitutional dislike to such a calling. Though I greatly admire actresses and singers, I could not be one. I love quietness, stillness,—being with a few people I like."
"Then you cannot like Paris?"
"Oh, yes! I am very happy here. I enjoy music and pictures, and my father gives me everything I can want or wish. I am a most fortunate girl, but——"
"There are 'buts' in every life," said Glynn, as she paused. He wanted her to speak on.
"There is scarcely a 'but' in mine. I was going to say that I seem to want a few months in the country every year to make life complete."