Helen went up to her bedroom, and sat sulkily by her open window, looking over the lake on to the mountains. Long after it was dark she could see the two red specks of their cigars wandering about like fire-flies in the garden, and could hear the crush of the rough gravel under their footsteps, and the low murmur of their voices as they talked.
"You are coming into Meadowshire, are you not?" asked Maurice, ere they parted.
Herbert shook his head.
"Not to the Millers?"
"No, I am afraid I shall never be asked to Shadonake again," answered the younger man, gloomily.
"Why, I thought you and Beatrice—forgive me—but is it not the case?"
"Her parents have stopped all that, Kynaston."
"But I am sure Beatrice herself will never let it stop; I know her too well," said Maurice, cheerily.
"There are laws in connection with minors," began Mr. Pryme, solemnly.
"Fiddlesticks!" was Maurice's rejoinder. "There are no laws to prevent young women falling in love, or the world would not be in such a confounded muddle as it frequently is. Don't be downhearted, Pryme; you stick to her, and it will all come right; and look here, if they won't ask you to Shadonake, I ask you to Kynaston; drop me a line, and come whenever you like—as soon as you get home."