Her father and the
stranger were laughing together. Then there was a rustling of
silk, and Mr. Swancourt and his companion, or companions, to all
seeming entered the door of the house, for nothing more of them
was audible. Elfride had turned back to meditate on what friends
these could be, when she heard footsteps, and her father
exclaiming behind her:
'O Elfride, here you are! I hope you got on well?'
Elfride's heart smote her, and she did not speak.
'Come back to the summer-house a minute,' continued Mr. Swancourt;
'I have to tell you of that I promised to.'
They entered the summer-house, and stood leaning over the knotty
woodwork of the balustrade.
'Now,' said her father radiantly, 'guess what I have to say.' He
seemed to be regarding his own existence so intently, that he took
no interest in nor even saw the complexion of hers.
'I cannot, papa,' she said sadly.
'Try, dear.'
'I would rather not, indeed.'
'You are tired. You look worn. The ride was too much for you.
Well, this is what I went away for. I went to be married!'
'Married!' she faltered, and could hardly check an involuntary 'So
did I.' A moment after and her resolve to confess perished like a
bubble.
'Yes; to whom do you think? Mrs. Troyton, the new owner of the
estate over the hedge, and of the old manor-house. It was only
finally settled between us when I went to Stratleigh a few days
ago.' He lowered his voice to a sly tone of merriment.
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