Mildred and Dr. Heriot had begged Olive to fill the position of sponsor to the younger Arnold; but Olive had refused almost with tears.
'I am not good enough. Do not ask me,' she had pleaded; and Mildred, knowing the girl's sad humours, had transferred the request to Ethel; her brother and Richard had stood with her.
Richard had no time to say more, for already the band had struck up that heralded the approach of the little rush-bearers, and he must take his place at the head of the procession with the other clergy.
She saw him again in church; he came down the chancel to receive the children's gay crowns. Ethel saw a broken lily lying amongst them on the altar afterwards. It struck her that his face looked somewhat sterner and paler than usual.
She was one of the invited guests at the vicarage; the Lamberts were this year up at the Hall; but later on in the afternoon they met in the Hall gardens: he came up at once and accosted her.
'All this is jarring on you terribly,' he said, with his old thoughtfulness, as he noticed her tired face.
'I should be glad to go home certainly, but I do not like to appear rude to the Delawares; the music is so noisy, and all those flitting dancers between the trees confuse one's head.'
'Suppose we walk a little way from them,' he returned, quietly. No one but a keen observer could have read a determined purpose under that quietness of his; Ethel's worn face, her changed manners, were driving him desperate; the time had come that he would take his fate between his hands, like a man; so he told himself, as they walked side by side.
They had sauntered into the tree-bordered walk, leading to the old summer-house in the meadows. As they reached it, Ethel turned to him with a new sort of timidity in her face and voice.
'I am not tired, Richard—not very tired, I mean. I would rather go back to the others.'