Then he relapsed into silence again.
When they came to where the Abbey road branched off, the figure of Geneviève walking quickly in front was again distinctly visible; but before they overtook her, Mr. Guildford had made a little change in his plans.
“Is there not a short cut to Dr. Farmer’s house somewhere about here?” he inquired of the groom, and finding that it was so, and that ten minutes’ quick walking across the fields would save a long round by road, he left the dog-cart, sending by the servant a message to Colonel Methvyn explaining the delay in his appearance.
Half an hour later Mr. Guildford entered the Abbey grounds, having executed the little commission entrusted to him by Dr. Farmer. He walked slowly up the drive, enjoying the sight of the pleasant, quaint old garden, which as yet he had hardly seen by daylight in its summer dress; it was a garden such as there are few of nowadays,—the paths edged with box, whole beds of lavender and sweet William, sweet peas and clove-pinks, marigold, and snap-dragon; for on this side of the house the good taste of its owners allowed of no “new-fangled” gardening; all—from the moss-grown sun-dial on the lawn, to the curiously cut yew-trees guarding the entrance to the bowling green,—remained as it might have been in many a long, long ago summer, when the ever-young flower faces smiled to old-world Cicelys in hoop and farthingale, just as they did now to the fair-haired girl who came swiftly across the smooth short grass to meet the stranger, the mellow light of the afternoon sun falling full upon her.
The young man started when he first caught sight of her, yet at that very instant she had been in his thoughts.
“I am so very glad you have come today,” she said, as she drew near; “my mother and I have just come back from Haverstock,—and oh! by the bye, I must apologise for that stupid old Hodge having been sent to meet you at Greybridge; he can’t drive a bit, but the coachman was away, and Dawson out with us, when your telegram came,—and we have found my father in a perfect fever of eagerness to go out a little. He has not been out since the day before you were here last, it has been so much colder, you know; do you think he may come out this?”
“I don’t see any reason against it,” said Mr. Guildford; “the air is fresh, but perfectly mild. Shall I go and talk about it to Colonel Methvyn before it gets later?”
“Yes,” said Cicely, “I think he is anxious to see you.”
She turned and walked back again with him across the lawn in the direction of the house.
“I should have been here earlier,” said Mr. Guildford, “but I came round by Dr. Farmer’s; he wrote to ask me to look out some books and papers that he wants forwarded, and that his servants could not have found.”