The little speech pleased her. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm in the pride of possession.
“Did you ever hear such an undomesticated pronouncement?” she laughed. “We’re going to change all that.”
And the train carried them off to the great wonder and change of their lives.
The train out of sight, Blaise Olifant stuck in his pocket the handkerchief he had been waving, and turned with a sigh.
“I hope she’ll be happy.”
“Why shouldn’t she?” asked Janet Philimore.
She was a bright-cheeked, brown-eyed, brown-haired girl, with a matter-of-fact manner.
“I know of no reason,” he replied. “I was expressing a hope.”
He saw her to her homeward-bound omnibus and walked, somewhat moodily, on his road. After a day or two, the pleasures of London proving savourless, he returned to Medlow. But “The Towers” no longer seemed quite the same. He could not tell why. The house had lost fragrance.