She leaned out of the window, apparently with the intention of calling to him, but it was too late; he was already trotting down the avenue, followed by the groom who was to bring back the horse. She looked after him with a wistful gaze, and her eyes filled with tears. Diva watched her thoughtfully,--intent, it would seem, upon some deeper and more perplexing phase of the matter than that immediately presented to her. Finally, she said, as if struck by a sudden thought:-- "If you want to speak to him so much, there is a way. You know the shorter path through the shrubbery to the entrance gate; we can intercept him." "Oh, no! I could not do that," exclaimed Coralie, shrinking back and blushing deeply, "he would think--that is, it would look like thrusting myself in his way." "He would think nothing," affirmed Diva, coolly, "except that we are out for a morning walk, as we have a good right to be; there never was a lovelier sky or earth to tempt one forth. Come, we must be quick." And, without waiting for consent, or listening to remonstrance, Diva seized Coralie's hand, and hurried her down the stairs, and out through a different door from that by which Bergan had taken his departure,--where Mr. Youle still lingered,--so that they reached the shrubbery unobserved. Here, Diva slackened her pace a little, though she still kept hold of her half reluctant, and nearly breathless companion. They reached the gate before Bergan came in sight. "Let us go back a little way," pleaded Coralie; "I don't want to be found waiting here." "Why not?" asked Diva, composedly, seating herself on a low, broad stump by the way-side. "Mr. Arling is not a vain man, he will never suspect us of waiting for _him_. But if you must have an excuse for lingering here,--why, there are some exquisite ferns yonder,--gather them for your parlor vases." Coralie hesitated, doubtful whether to stay or flee. Diva plucked a dainty leaf of wood-sorrel, and put it between the perfect curves of her own lips. "Coralie," she suddenly asked, "how old am I?" Despite her perplexity, Coralie could not help smiling at the absurdity of the question. "Are you losing your memory?" she inquired; "you are two years older than I." "Oh, is that all? I thought I must have been at least a hundred,--it seemed such an age since I used to eat this green stuff with relish. But you are certainly young yet, though you do look a year or two older than you did yesterday." Coralie quickly stooped over the ferns to hide her deeply-diffused cheeks. Diva continued, apparently without noticing her confusion:--