“Pray don’t mind me,” jauntily returned Mrs. March. “I am going to send Mr. Allyne off to the church to fetch my prayer-book, which I left there, and Mr. Travers and I always get on famously. Trot away, all of you.” “Come on, Fair,” growled Sir Nelson, pulling at Fair’s sleeve. “Allyne, you seem to be in luck—it’s only two miles to the church! Come, Fair.” They walked along the terrace, and Allyne, glaring at Mrs. March, vaulted over the balustrade and began the hot walk to the parish church through the park. When he was out of sight Travers ventured to turn to Mrs. March, who had remained annoyingly silent, although, he felt, she must know, after receiving his letter by the hands of her maid that morning, that his reason for desiring to see her was as great as his diffidence in stating it. He looked long at her and wondered how she could be so cruel—and so beautiful. At last she looked up at him as if only now realizing that he was there. “Now, my dear Dick, we can have our little say without any such ridiculous rendezvous as you suggested in your overwrought note. What seems to weigh upon us? Tell me—that is, if you think you must.” “Mrs. March—” he began, but she stopped him with a protesting hand. “Mrs. March?” she complained, with a delightful little contraction of her brows. “I thought we had agreed that I was to be the Dorothy of our childhood?” “If you like,” he answered, saying to himself that if she knew what was in his mind and intended to deny him, then the cruelty of her present tormenting winsomeness was beyond belief. No. She could not be so base—she must know what he was about to say to her. But failure had grown into the very marrow of his bones, so it was with unspeakably hopeless hope that he went on. “If you like. Well, Dorothy, it will be no news to you—this that I am now to tell you—I love you. I am sure you must have known this for a long time. You have also known, I trust, why I have remained silent. I had the best possible of all reasons for not speaking—I was a beggar without a penny, without a lucrative calling and without prospects.” “Oh, Dick, Dick,” Mrs. March broke in, taking his hand in both of hers; “are you going to spoil our dear old partnership in this way? I’m so sorry! Be a dear, good boy, tell me of your new play. Have you finished it yet? I’m sure it will prove a tremendous success.”