There was little weeding of the garden that fore-noon, unless the brushing off with Jack’s gauntlets of some green moss from the garden seat, about which clustered the honeysuckle, can be considered such. Possibly this was done that more sprays of the vine might be plucked, for when Sukey, after repeated calls from the entry, finally came to summon them to dinner, Jack had a bunch of it, and a single rose, thrust in his sword knot.
There was a pretence of affected unconsciousness at the meal on the part of the three, and even of Peg, though the servant made it difficult to maintain the fiction by several times going off into fits of reasonless giggles not easy for those at table to ignore. The repast eaten, Brereton drew Mrs. Meredith aside for a word, and Janice took advantage of the freedom to escape to her room, where she buried her face in the pillow, as if she had some secret to confide to it.
From this she was presently roused by her mother’s entrance, and as the girl, with flushed cheeks and questioning look, met her eyes, Mrs. Meredith said: “I think, my child, thou hast acted for the best, and we will hope thy father will think so.”
“Oh, mommy, dost think he’ll consent?”
“I fear not, but that must be as God wills it. Go down now, for Colonel Brereton says he must ride away, and only tarries for a word with thee.”
Janice gave one glance at the mirror, and put her hands to her hair, with a look of concern. “’T is dreadfully disordered.”
“He will not notice it, that I’ll warrant,” prophesied the matron.
With his horse’s bridle over his arm, the lover was waiting for her on the front porch. “Will you not walk with me down the road a little way?” he begged. “’T is so hard to leave you.”
“I—I think I had better not,” urged the girl, showing trepidation. “’T would surely delay you too—”
“Ah, Janice,” interrupted the lover, “why—what have I done that you should show such fear of me?”