“O Elfride, here you are! I hope you got on well?”
Elfride’s heart smote her, and she did not speak.
“Come back to the summer-house a minute,” continued Mr. Swancourt; “I have to tell you of that I promised to.”
They entered the summer-house, and stood leaning over the knotty woodwork of the balustrade.
“Now,” said her father radiantly, “guess what I have to say.” He seemed to be regarding his own existence so intently, that he took no interest in nor even saw the complexion of hers.
“I cannot, papa,” she said sadly.
“Try, dear.”
“I would rather not, indeed.”
“You are tired. You look worn. The ride was too much for you. Well, this is what I went away for. I went to be married!”
“Married!” she faltered, and could hardly check an involuntary “So did I.” A moment after and her resolve to confess perished like a bubble.