“From all you have told me, Marie-Celeste, your friend might well be Theodore's uncle,” said Miss Allyn, as they made their way down the stairs; “he and Harold have an uncle—their mother's brother—a Mr. Harold Selden, who was very much the sort of man you describe.”
“Oh, no; I'm sure that couldn't be, Miss Allyn! Because I talked about Harold often, so that he would have known and told me, and he would have told me, too, if his name had not been Bel-den, you know.”
Miss Allyn was not so sure of that; but Albert was mounting the wall of the terrace, to which he had led the way, in rather dangerous fashion, and Miss Allyn hurrying to lift the little fellow to a safer level, the conversation ended abruptly.
“Isn't it beautiful!” she said, as Marie-Celeste joined her, at the same time lending a hand toward a less ambitious bit of climbing with which Albert was fain to content himself.
Marie-Celeste looked away over the tops of the fine old trees that just reach to the terraces from the steep decline of the slopes below, way to the lovely meadows, and then turned to look up at the castle, leaning comfortably against the wall at her back.
“Yes,” she said seriously; “I can't find any words for it all”—her face fairly aglow with enthusiasm as she spoke—“everything is so perfectly lovely: the views, and the towers, and the castle itself, and the chapels, and the wonderful Long Walk, so that it seems as though I was just dreaming it all, even to the little room Harold has fitted up so beautifully for me.”
“I was sure it would look very prettily when it was finished,” said Miss Allyn complacently. “Why, did you see it?”
“Why, of course I did! Hasn't Harold told you that I selected the curtains, and the valance, and the hangings, and went with him to buy the set for the toilette-table?”
“Oh, yes, of course he did. I don't know what I was thinking of. You used to know Aunt Grace very well, didn't you?”
“Yes; and loved her with all my heart; and I used to spend a great deal of time at the dear Little Castle.”