“Well—interesting, then,” she agreed with a nod of her pretty head. “But I can’t see why you are so very interested in Mr. Glover. Every one at Lady Nassington’s likes him.”
“So do I, Sylvia.”
“Then why be so mysterious?”
“I’m not mysterious. I happened to have come down to see the wireless installation here, and you are staying at a country house in the vicinity. So I just looked you up—that’s all.”
“But why don’t you call? I want to introduce you to them all.”
“And if I called to see you, your friend Glover, knowing of our friendship, would, in the smoking-room, whisper that I had followed you down here. No. I prefer that we should preserve our secret, Sylvia. You surely don’t want to cause your mother annoyance and anxiety? Remember you are to marry a man of title. At the very thought of your being engaged to me your mother would faint.”
“Yes,” laughed the girl, dashing aside some dead leaves with her walking stick. “I really think she would.”
“Then, for the present, let us remain quite quiet,” urged young Falconer. “I will see you again when you get back to town.”
A few moments later, while they stood on the path beneath the leafless trees, the young man raised her gloved hand to his lips, and then they parted, she to hurry on and rejoin the guns, and he to return to Crowborough.
Falconer was there with a distinct purpose. He walked back to the Beacon Hotel, ate his dinner, and played billiards until half-past ten o’clock, when he put on his coat and went out for a moonlight walk. He pictured to himself the gay scene at Nassington Hall, which he might easily have joined, yet he hesitated because of the problem he had in hand.