"... the years
Interpret everything aright,
And crown with weeds our pride of towers,
And warm our marble through with sun,
And break our pavements through with flowers,
With an Amen when all is done."
—MRS. MEYNELL.
Sybil Ayres, who was animated by a very lively desire to pay out Lancelot for being about to marry someone else, manœuvred repeatedly to approach the Burmester party, and fling her fire-brand into their midst. But in some unaccountable way they seemed to elude her. After a time she appealed to Captain Brooke, who happened to be passing by.
"Captain Brooke, do persuade Miss Lutwyche to come this way! Her brother is here, and wants to see her."
"What, one of the Boer boys? He had better go and call upon her to-morrow at Glen Royd, I should think. This is a public sort of meeting-place; and as you see, she is leaving the ground now with Lady Burmester's party."
"It looks just as if Miss Lutwyche was avoiding him," tittered Miss Ayres.
"It is Major Otis whom they are all avoiding, by my advice," said the Captain gravely.
"Because he knows all about Miss Lutwyche's African life? That looks as if there were something to be ashamed of, doesn't it?" said the girl impertinently.
"Not on that account, but because—you will pardon my speaking so of the General's guest—with my consent, no woman of my acquaintance should speak to such a man."
"Captain Brooke!"
"I will say the same to Otis himself, if you wish. He has no business in any gentleman's house, and he knows it. Whatever he told me, I should be sure was a lie, merely because Otis said it."