make it appear to him that her aunts expected him to-morrow, and at the same time he must not come.
"Ah! and one more thing," she said, "you must send me a telegram, please, to-morrow morning, saying you can't come, owing to some brilliant excuse which you will invent. You see, we thought it was to-morrow, owing to my mistake."
"But let me come to-morrow, too, then," he asked.
This was extremely awkward. Though Lucia highly approved the feeling that made him want to come, it would never do if he came. It would be known that she had asked him.
"Ah! no, no," she cried. "It would be delightful, I needn't say, but much, much too risky. You would betray some familiarity with the house, or I should allude to something that happened to-day. It would all come out. How horrid and inhospitable it sounds of me!"
There was good sense in this, as there was in all that Lucia did, and the danger was averted. But it had been quite a close shave: she might have been unable to think of an excuse.
"Ah, how quick you are!" he said admiringly. "You make me feel so slow and heavy witted."
She picked up her Omar.
"It is an impression that is confined to yourself, then," she said. "It is—what do Christian Scientists call it?—a false claim. Now, Lord Brayton, do not let us stand here. What would you like to do?
"'The bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter—and the bird is on the wing,'"
she quoted. "Shall we walk along the beach? Shall we sit and talk? Oh, good gracious!" she added suddenly.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I can hardly tell you. Oh, but I think I must: it will make you laugh. I've sent the parlourmaid out for the afternoon, and who will get tea ready for us? Isn't it funny? In the course of your varied life were you ever asked anywhere to get a reception the least like this?"
Then, like two children, they just stood and laughed.
"I have never enjoyed a reception more," he said at length, with perfect truth.
"Oh, how nice of you to say that! You know I am glad to see you, if that helps. Let us walk. There is a heavenly sandy beach a little farther on, quite, quite empty—nothing but sand
