"God forgive me, so it is," answered Lady Campstown, the tears rushing into her eyes.
"Let us make a pact, will you?" said Clandonald, stopping presently. "I have gone over and left my pasteboards in due form at Reine des Fées, at a time when you told me the ladies were likely to be at the Golf Club."
"Yes, and I was really quite put out about it, but I see now that it was better so."
"And I shall meet the young lady at dinner here this evening, according to your plan. There will be several outsiders. I shan't have much chance to speak with her, and after that——"
"Clan, don't suggest that you will leave me after that. Indeed, I couldn't stand it; you positively must stay. I should tell you that you won't run much chance of seeing Posey privately, in any case. She's tremendously taken up with fitters and people who come down from Paris to bring things for her to see. Besides, Miss Carstairs isn't in good spirits, I find, and no wonder—I believe she just broke and ran away from that dreadful vulgar stepmother. We heard enough of Mrs. Carstairs' doings the little time she was here to be thankful she took herself off. There's trouble brewing for the husband, if all one is told is true. Posey watches over Helen like a mother-bird, and hardly leaves her. Besides, they are expecting at any day or time the return of Mr. Glynn. He hasn't cabled, but it was understood he was to get aboard the first available ship sailing for Cherbourg or the Mediterranean ports the hour after he finished some critical business he had on hand for his chief. (The way these Americans fly fairly takes one's breath away!) So there is no reason for you to go from here, if you think there's to be any embarrassment resulting from your meeting with her. The days will glide on fast enough to the wedding!" she ended with a deep and heartfelt sigh.
"I don't want to run in face of the enemy, indeed," he said, trying for a more cheerful face. "I think I'll stroll out in the garden and smoke a pipe, and try and settle my perturbed spirit. And you, dear, what will you do with yourself this afternoon?"
"The carriage is ordered, soon, for a round of visits I have to make. How much rather had I spend the time, as I often do at this hour, going in through the green door to sit with Posey in the orange walk—near the fountain with the broken-nosed Triton, you remember. It's her favorite spot, and nothing but rain will prevent her sitting there for an hour with her book or work."
"Then I'll see you at tea-time, if not before."
"I'll be back, you may trust me. Nothing I dislike more than having my tea out, at houses where a woman sits behind a little table, talking to everybody that comes, and mixing the most abominable doses of half-cold tea, and too much cream and sugar, for her unoffending guests, forgetting whether the water boils or the tea-pot has stood too long! Keep to the bamboo walk, my dear, the mistral is blowing hard to-day, and you're not like me, acclimatized to it. Down there you'll be sheltered and private, and can smoke your pipe in peace."
Clandonald had hardly left his aunt standing before the fireplace in her sunny drawing-room, pondering upon the surprising intelligence he had communicated, when Lady Campstown's parlor-maid came in with a rather frightened face.