There was no one to be seen when she got to the cottage. It was still fully an hour till luncheon-time. Eira went up to her room and occupied herself resolutely with certain “tidyings-up,” which she reserved as a species of tonic when feeling herself unusually discomposed. And as she possessed one of those healthy natures which have the power of throwing themselves heartily into whatever is the occupation of the moment, the time passed more quickly than she realised.
It was within a few minutes, a very few minutes, of the luncheon hour, when the door opened softly and some one came in.
“Who is there?” said Eira, without looking round. “Is it you, Frances? The luncheon bell hasn’t sounded yet, I’m sure.”
“It isn’t Frances,” was the reply, in a voice which she knew to be Betty’s, though with something—what was it?—in it which had never been there before, and, turning round quickly, with a curious thrill of eager anticipation in her warm, sisterly little heart, she faced the newcomer.
Yes, Betty it was, but what a Betty! Whence had come this wonderful glow, almost radiance, which seemed to transfigure and illumine her whole personality? Were there tears trembling on her eyelashes? It may have been so, or it may have been the reflection of the new light within the dark eyes themselves.
“Eira,” she exclaimed tremulously, “dear little Eira! I know you thought me horrible this morning, but I didn’t mean it really. I was only—frightened to—to let myself believe about it. I had no certain reason, you see, and I thought it might be just a mistake of dear Francie’s. Please forgive me. I thought I must tell you first—even before her, for we have been almost like one, haven’t we? And—oh, I am so happy now!”
She threw her arms round her sister; for a moment or two neither spoke. Then Eira looked up.
“Betty, dear,” she whispered, “have you seen him then? did you meet him?”
“Yes,” was the reply, while Betty’s face grew rosy all over. “He was waiting for me, watching for me to pass back home. He had found out somehow—perhaps he met Frances—where I was, and we strolled up and down the Laurel Walk. I am rather glad it was there—aren’t you? Perhaps somehow poor old great-grand-aunt, whose namesake I am, will know it and be glad. He is coming this afternoon to see you all, and—” with an irrepressible smile—“to speak to papa.”
The smile of amusement developed into a laugh of mingled delight and mischief in Eira’s case.