“Oh!” exclaimed Georgie, “then how sly Tom has been over it, never to tell us! Is it really true? I shall ask Valentine.”
“The last person likely to know,” said Tod. “You’ll find it’s true enough, Georgie.”
“Then——” Georgie began, and broke off. “Listen!” she cried. “They are beginning to dance on the lawn. Come, Mary.” And the two girls moved away, attracted by the scraping of the fiddle.
Oliver Preen moved a step forward from the tree, speaking in a low, calm tone; but his face was white as death.
“Were you alluding to them?” he asked, looking across to those two pacing about. “Why do you say it is a ‘case’?”
“Because I am sure it is one,” answered Tod. “They have been in love with one another this many a day past, those two, months and months and years. As everyone might see who had eyes, except old Paul. That’s why, Preen.”
Oliver did not answer. He had his arm round the trunk of a tree looking across as before.
“And I wouldn’t stake a fortune that Paul has not seen it also,” went on Tod. “All the same, I had a rumour whispered to me to-day that he sees it now, and has said, ‘Bless you, my children.’ Tom Chandler is to be made his partner and to marry Emma.”
“We are too many girls there, and want you for partners,” cried Eliza Letsom, dashing up. “Do come and dance with us, Johnny!”