For a moment they walked on in silence, Sir William wondering how to get rid of the incubus, and Eppy happy over the impression she fondly imagined she had made upon Sir William. Just then a bend in the avenue brought them in full view of the broad terrace in front of the hall, where Robert’s handsome figure was outlined clearly against the dazzling blue of the sky. Several people were grouped near him. He seemed to be in animated conversation with some of them, and his face was radiant with smiles. With a cry of delight, Eppy hurried forward to greet him, forgetting Sir William utterly, much to his amazement. That she, or anyone, would dare leave him so unceremoniously to join Robert Burns angered him beyond measure. He followed her slowly at some little distance, with no very pleasant expression on his stern features. Later in the afternoon when it was close to sunset, and all other amusements had given way to the delight of dancing Sir Roger de Coverly on the springy green turf to the silvery music of the orchestra, Mary and Mrs. Dunlop put in their appearance. Mary was looking very beautiful in a clinging, old-fashioned white crepe de chene, another old relic of Mrs. Dunlop’s dead and gone slim youth. While they danced, she reclined languidly in a low chair, her sad eyes fixed mournfully upon Robert’s glowing face as he lay stretched in lazy length at her feet. The day had passed and still she had had no opportunity to tell him the dire news, for she had not seen him since the night before. While the dancing was in progress a liveried page walked noiselessly over the turf and stopping beside the recumbent figure of the poet, quietly handed him a note. He leisurely opened it and read it at a glance. “Say I’ll be right there,” he said to the waiting page after a moment’s meditation. He excused himself to Mary and the others and followed the man indoors, with a frown of impatient wonder clouding his brow.