'I don't quite see it,' said Bernard.
'Yes, I think I see it,' said Crosbie. 'The unadaptability of the lawn for the purpose of a ball—'
'Nobody is thinking of a ball,' said Lily, with mock petulance.
'I'm defending you, and yet you won't let me speak. The unadaptability of the lawn for the purpose of a ball will conceal the insufficiency of four men and a boy as a supply of male dancers. But, Lily, who is the ungrown gentleman? Is it your old friend Johnny Eames?'
Lily's voice became sobered as she answered him.
'Oh, no; I did not mean Mr Eames. He is coming, but I did not mean him. Dick Boyce, Mr Boyce's son, is only sixteen. He is the ungrown gentleman.'
'And who is the fourth adult?'
'Dr Crofts, from Guestwick. I do hope you will like him, Adolphus. We think he is the very perfection of a man.'
'Then of course I shall hate him; and be very jealous, too!'
And then that pair went off together, fighting their own little battle on that head, as turtle-doves will sometimes do. They went off, and Bernard was left with Bell standing together over the ha-ha fence which divides the garden at the back of the house from the field.
'Bell,' he said, 'they seem very happy, don't they?'
'And they ought to be happy now, oughtn't they? Dear Lily! I hope he will be good to her. Do you know, Bernard, though he is your friend, I am very, very anxious about it. It is such a vast trust to put in a man when we do not quite know him.'
'Yes, it is; but they'll do very well together. Lily will be happy enough.'
'And he?'
'I suppose he'll be happy, too. He'll feel himself a little straightened as to income at first, but that will all come round.'
'If he is not, she will be wretched.'
'They will do very well. Lily must be prepared to make the money go as far as she can, that's all.'
'Lily won't feel the want of money. It is not that. But if he lets her know that she has made him a poor man, then she will be unhappy. Is he extravagant, Bernard?'
But Bernard was anxious to discuss another subject, and therefore would not speak such words of wisdom as to Lily's engagement as might have been expected from him had he been in a different frame of mind.
'No, I should say not,' said he. 'But, Bell—'
'I do not know that we could have acted otherwise than we have done, and yet I fear that we have been rash. If he makes her unhappy, Bernard, I shall never forgive you.'
But as she said this she put her hand lovingly upon his arm, as a cousin might do, and spoke in a tone which divested her threat of its acerbity.
'You must not quarrel with me, Bell, whatever may happen. I cannot afford to quarrel with you.'
'Of course I was not in earnest as to that.'
'You and I must never quarrel, Bell; at least, I hope not. I could bear to quarrel with any one rather than with you.' And then, as he spoke, there was something in his voice which gave the girl some slight, indistinct warning of what might be his intention. Not that she said to herself at once, that he was going to make her an offer of his hand,—now, on the spot; but she felt that he intended something beyond the tenderness of ordinary cousinly affection.
'I hope we shall never quarrel,' she said. But as she spoke, her mind was settling itself,—forming its resolution, and coming to a conclusion as to the sort of love which Bernard might, perhaps, expect. And it formed another conclusion; as to the sort of love which might be given in return.
'Bell,' he said, 'you and I have always been dear friends.'
'Yes; always.'
'Why should we not be something more than friends?'
To give Captain Dale his due I must declare that his voice was perfectly natural as he asked this question, and that he showed no signs of nervousness, either in his face or limbs. He had made up his
