He hesitated for a moment and then said: "Of course I will. You've been a jolly good friend to me. But for pity's sake go at once; I can't stand much more." "If you know where the others are," I suggested, "you might employ your time in finding them." Then I set off down the drive once more. I walked on the grass, but, on reaching the laurel-clump, I gave a little cough to apprise them of my presence. Poor Phyllida was so much overwrought that she started to her feet like a frightened animal. (She had been lying with her face in her arms, while Will stroked her hair and whispered such little words of comfort as came into his head.) "Will, I want to speak to you a moment," I said. And, when he came to me, I told him to go down to the lodge gates and wait there till I fetched him. Then I tried to make _some_ impression on poor Phyllida, who was indulging in such an abandonment of grief that you would really say that she was enjoying it. "Phyllida, stop crying," I said, "and listen to what I have to tell you." "Oh, why can't you leave me alone?," she sobbed. "Because," I said, "there is great and glorious news for you, and your old aunt is selfish enough to wish to be its bearer." You may be sure that she stopped her crying soon enough at that. I told her that Hilary Butler had arrived... And about the accident; she tried to bolt from my grasp, but I contrived to restrain her... And the dreadful fright she had been wicked enough to give us... "Oh, let me go!," she kept crying. "A moment more, dearest child," I said. "You are both over-excited, overwrought. Would you not like to meet him alone first, without feeling that the eyes of all your family are upon you?" ... She is an impetuous, affectionate little thing. In a moment she was kissing me and making my face quite wet with her tears... "We will go into the rose-garden," I said. "Many years before you were born, dear Phyllida, another girl stood there with the man who loved her more than any one in the world. May you be at least not less happy than she has been!" ... Then I returned to the house. Hilary had collected most of the party, and I whispered to him that he would find Phyllida by the sun-dial... I am not so well used to praise from my occasionally critical relations that I can afford to treat it lightly; Spenworth was good enough to propose three cheers for me when he heard of my _childishly_ simple little stratagem for letting the young people meet unlistened to, unspied on... "And now had not the rest of us better go to bed?," I suggested to Ruth. "If all is as we hope, you and Brackenbury would sooner not be embarrassed by our presence."