"You have only been reading since dinner," debated Lydia: "not much more than an hour, I'm sure. Go on."
So Daisy was obliged to go on. She dared not display too much anxiety to get away, lest it might betray that she had some motive for wishing it. A secret makes us terribly self-conscious. But by-and-by it really became too dark to see even the large print of the fashionable novel of the day, and Lydia exhibited signs of weariness; and Mrs. St. Clare, who had been dozing in another arm-chair, woke up and said Lydia must not listen any longer. Daisy ran down to the yellow room, and sped swiftly through the open glass-doors.
It was nearly as dark as it would be. The stars were shining; a lovely opal colour lingered yet in the west. Frank Raynor, hands in pockets, and whistling softly under his breath, stood in the sheltered walk. A somewhat broad walk, where the trees met overhead. Daisy flung herself into his arms, and burst into tears. Tried almost beyond bearing by her forced detention, it was thus her emotion, combined perhaps with a little temper, expended itself.
"Why, Daisy! What is the matter?"
"I could not get to you, Frank. Lydia kept me in, reading to her, all this time."
"Never mind, my darling, now you have come."
"I thought you would go away; I feared you might think I forgot, or something," sighed Daisy.
"As if I could think that! Dry your eyes, my dear one."
Placing her arm within his, Frank led her forward, and they began, as usual, to pace the walk. It was their favourite promenade; for it was so retired and sheltered that they felt pretty safe from intruders. There, linked arm-in-arm, or with Frank's arm round her waist, as might be, they paced to and fro; the friendly stars shining down upon them through the branches overhead.
Their theme was ever the same—the future. The hopeful future, that to their eyes looked brighter than those twinkling stars. What was it to be for them, and how might they, in their enthusiasm, plan it out? In what manner could Frank best proceed, so as to secure speedily a home-tent, and be able to declare to the world that he and Margaret St. Clare had spent a quarter-of-an-hour in the grey old church at Trennach one windy morning, when he had earned the right to take her away with him and cherish her for life?