“Your father,” continued the Lady Evening Glory, “shall be sent for this day. We shall see what those in authority over you think of your conduct.”
The aunt had but to mention the father to fill Wistaria with fear. She sprang to her feet and stood trembling among the scattered blossoms.
“I am guilty of no wrong, I do assure you, my lady aunt. But I arose to enjoy the sun’s awakening, and—and I did find these honorable flowers on my sill, and indeed they spoke to me of—of the coming summer, and so many things, dear aunt, that I was fain to take them in.”
“Then do, pray, my little dove, inform me what you know concerning this presumptuous fellow who placed them on your sill.”
“Oh, my lady, he is indeed honorably noble.”
“Indeed!”
“I do assure you. He is—” she broke off, painfully debating in her mind the wisdom of confessing the truth to her aunt.
“He is—?” repeated her aunt.
“Our own august guest.”
“Ah—ho! Then, if that is so, you spoke a lie just a moment since when you said you did not know your lover’s name.”