The next afternoon he rode over to Uplands, and found Virginia alone in the dim, rose-scented parlour, where the quaint old furniture stood in the gloom of a perpetual solemnity. The girl, herself, made a bright spot of colour against the damask curtains, and as he looked at her he felt the same delight in her loveliness that he felt in Great-aunt Emmeline's. Virginia had become a picture to him, and nothing more. When he entered she greeted him with her old friendliness, gave him both her cool white hands, and asked him a hundred shy questions about the countries over sea. She was delicately cordial, demurely glad. “It seems an age since you went away,” she said flatteringly, “and so many things have happened--one of the big trees blew down on the lawn, and Jack Powell broke his arm--and--and Mr. Morson has been back twice, you know.” “Yes, I know,” he answered, “but I rather think the tree's the biggest thing, isn't it?” “Well, it is the biggest,” admitted Virginia, sweetly. “I couldn't get my arms halfway round it--and Betty was so distressed when it fell that she cried half the day, just as if it were a human being. Aunt Lydia has been trying to build a rockery over the root, and she's going to cover it with portulaca.” She went to the long window and pointed out the spot where it had stood. “There are so many one hardly misses it,” she added cheerfully. At the end of an hour Dan asked timidly for Betty, to hear that she had gone riding earlier with Champe. “She is showing him a new path over the mountain,” said Virginia. “I really think she knows them all by heart.” “I hope she hasn't taken to minding cattle,” observed Dan, irritably. “I believe in women keeping at home, you know,” and as he rose to go he told Virginia that she had “an Irish colour.” “I have been sitting in the sun,” she answered shyly, going back to the window when he left the room. Dan went quickly out to Prince Rupert, but with his foot in the stirrup, he saw Miss Lydia training a coral honeysuckle at the end of the portico, and turned away to help her fasten up a broken string. “It blew down yesterday,” she explained sadly. “The storm did a great deal of damage to the flowers, and the garden looked almost desolate this morning, but Betty and I worked there until dinner. I tell Betty she must take my place among the flowers, she has such a talent for making them bloom. Why, if you will come into the garden, you will be surprised to see how many summer plants are still in blossom.” She spoke wistfully, and Dan looked down on her with a tender reverence which became him strangely. “Why, I shall be delighted to go with you,” he answered. “Do you know I never see you without thinking of your roses? You seem to carry their fragrance in your clothes.” There was a touch of the Major's flattery in his manner, but Miss Lydia's pale cheeks flushed with pleasure.