“Westmore and Thessa!”
She whisked her tears away and sat up swiftly. But Thessa merely called to them that she and Westmore were off for a walk, and passed on through the hall and out through the porch.
“Garry,” she murmured, looking away from him.
“Yes, dear?”
“May I go to my room and fix my hair? Because Mr. Skeel will be here. Do you mind if I leave you?”
He laughed:
“Of course not, you charming child!” Then, as he looked down at her hand, which he still retained, his expression altered; he inclosed the slender fingers, bent slowly and touched the fragrant palm with his lips.
They were both on their feet the next second; she passing him with a pale, breathless little smile, and swiftly crossing the hall; he dumb, confused by the sudden tumult within him, standing there with one hand holding to the piano as though for support, and looking after the slim, receding figure till it disappeared beyond the library door.
His mother and sister returned from their morning ride, lingered to chat with him, then went away to dress for luncheon. Murtagh Skeel had not yet arrived.
Westmore and Thessalie returned from their walk in 361 the woods by the second lake, reporting a distant view of Barres senior, fishing madly from a canoe.