It was a still greater surprise to Leslie when Hector Garret came again the next evening. He had never been with them on two successive days before. She supposed he had gone back to Ayrshire, although he had not distinctly referred to his speedy return. But he was here, and Leslie entertained him as usual.
"Should you not like to see Ferndean?" inquired Hector Garret.
"Don't speak of it," Leslie cautioned him, soberly; "it would be far too great happiness for this world."
"Why, what sort of dismal place do you think the world?"
"Too good a place for you and me," Leslie answered evasively, and with a touch of fun.
"But this is the very season for Ferndean and Otter, when the pasture is gay as a garden, and you can have boating every day in the creeks, more sheltered than the moorland lochs."
The tears came into Leslie's eyes.
"I think it is unkind of you, Mr. Garret, to tempt me with such pictures," she answered, half pettishly.
"I mean to be kind," he responded quickly. "I may err, but I can take refuge in my intentions. You may see Ferndean and Otter, if you can consent to go there, and dwell there as a grave man's friend and wife."
Leslie started violently, and the blood rushed over her face.