"Oh, do you think she does sanction it?" exclaimed Daisy, drawing a deep breath.
"Why, of course she does," replied Frank, speaking in accordance with his belief. "Would Mrs. St. Clare let us linger out together, evening after evening, if she did not see and sanction it? No, there will be neither trouble nor impediment. Life lies before us, Daisy, fair as a happy valley."
Tea waited on the table when they got in. Mrs. St. Clare was sleeping still; Lydia looked very cross. Frank glanced at his watch, as if doubting whether he could stay longer.
Daisy's pretty hands, the lace meant to shade them falling back, began to busy themselves with the tea-cups. It awoke Mrs. St. Clare. She drew her chair at once to the tea-table. Frank pushed Lydia's light couch towards it.
"We were speaking to-day of Eagles' Nest," observed Mrs. St. Clare—and she really did not introduce the subject with any ulterior view; simply as something to talk about. "It's a very nice place, is it not?"
"Very—by all accounts," replied Frank. "I have not seen it."
"Indeed! Is not that strange?"
"My aunt Atkinson has never invited me there. None of us have been invited, except the major. And he has not been there for several years."
"How is that? Major Raynor is the next heir."
"Well, I scarcely know how it is. He and Mrs. Atkinson are not very good friends. There was some quarrel, I fancy."