Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming love was mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison?
Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl’s voice call: “Sylvia! Sylvia!”
We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second there appeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather pretty dark-haired girl in cream.
“I—I beg your pardon!” she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia was not alone.
“This is Mr. Biddulph,” exclaimed my well-beloved. “Miss Elsie Durnford.”
I bowed, and then we all three went forth upon the lawn.
I found Sylvia’s fellow-guest a very quiet young girl, and understood that she lived somewhere in the Midlands. Her father, she told me, was very fond of hunting, and she rode to hounds a good deal.
We wandered about the garden awaiting Shuttleworth’s return, for both girls would not hear of me leaving before tea.
“Mr. and Mrs. Shuttleworth are certain to be back in time,” Sylvia declared, “and I’m sure they’d be horribly annoyed if you went away without seeing them.”
“Do you really wish me to stay?” I asked, with a laugh, as we halted beneath the shadow of the great spreading cedar upon the lawn.