"Gimme my suit-case. I'll go and find out," John replied.

The cart drew up before the entrance. John scrambled down and waited impatiently for his luggage. He had never owned a suit-case before. He insisted upon carrying it. This delayed the party. Esme was obliged to wait while the cart was unloaded, until John's baggage came to light and was given into his care. Declining a.s.sistance, he struggled with his burden manfully up the short path, and, flushed and a little short of breath, deposited it on the stoep with an air of satisfaction. Some one came forward and offered to carry it inside for him; but John was distrustful of these overtures.

"I can manage," he said politely, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of a man who was seated on the stoep, "if you'll show me the way, please."

Before following his conductor he looked round for his aunt and sister; and the man who had shown amus.e.m.e.nt looked in the same direction, and then stood up. John was not interested in the stranger's movements; he was anxious to go inside and unpack; but the others were so slow in coming. Mary had halted in the path to fondle an amazingly fat white cat. John was not keen on cats; he preferred a dog. He wished they would hurry up.

"John," Mary's shrill voice called on a note of enthusiasm, "it's the darlingest thing, and it's called Snowflake."

"Oh, _come_ on!" John returned.

Mary came on at a run, and Esme followed leisurely. And then another delay occurred. John's patience was exhausted. Girls were all alike, he reflected scornfully; they made a fuss over everything they met. He did not understand why his aunt should stop to speak to the man who had been seated on the stoep, and who now stepped off the stoep and went to meet her. It seemed as though she had forgotten that he was waiting for her to go in with him.

She had stopped still in the path and was talking to the man. She had forgotten John and his suit-case altogether; she had forgotten everything. The weary months of waiting had slipped out of the picture; the present had rolled back into the past. She was back in the old spot with the man beside her whose presence made for her the magic of the place. The ghosts which had met and mocked her on the journey were finally laid to rest.

Hallam had come down the path quickly, and stood in front of her and blocked her way. She stood still, flushed and wondering, and looked at him with eyes which told a tale.

"I began to think you hadn't come," he said.

"Oh!" she said, and held out a hand with a slightly nervous laugh. "I never expected to see you. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was coming to the station to meet you," he said, "but the cart went away fairly loaded. I have been sitting here waiting for you for the past two days. What do you suppose I meant, you dense little thing, when I advised you to take your holiday here? Do you think I'd have left you to wander alone among the musty relics you dreaded? ... I am going to take you to-morrow morning to see the sun rise," he added in a lighter tone.

Esme laughed happily.

"I haven't seen the sun rise since the last time we saw it together,"

she said, and scrutinised him for the first time with unwavering eyes.

She thought him looking extremely well and fit. He appeared younger and altogether more sure of himself. And the stoop of the shoulders was less noticeable; he carried himself better. He met her eyes and smiled.

"I rather suspected your early morning activity was a cultivation," he said. "It is possible, I have found, to discard habits as well as to cultivate them."

That was the only reference he made to the long months he had spent fighting his baser self. He did not know whether she caught the drift of his remark. It did not seem to him to matter much. There was manifestly very little need for explanations on either side. They took one another for granted. They took their love for one another for granted; it stood revealed, a thing which needed no words, which expressed itself mutely in their satisfaction in one another. They gazed into each other's eyes, and there was no shadow of doubt in their minds at all.

"You are looking well," she said.

"Yes," he said; "I feel well. I feel amazingly, extravagantly well. So do you. You're radiant. That's because we are feeling so extremely pleased, both of us, with life and with ourselves,--particularly with ourselves. We are going to have the best of times together. I have been looking forward to this for months. And now you're here... It is almost as if we had never parted. It's better, really; the break brings us nearer. It's just good."

The happiness which she felt shone in her face. She looked about her at the familiar little garden, at the homely comfortable hotel, and the small stoep in front of the house, where John and Mary waited, John seated on the steps with his precious suit-case beside him. Then she looked back into the man's face, and her eyes were grave and tender when they met his.

"I had forgotten the children," she said.

He glanced over his shoulder.

"The little chap with the suit-case," he said. "And the girl--yes. Who are they?"

She explained them.

"I brought them with me to keep away the ghosts," she said.

He laughed.

"Well, they are here. I wish they weren't; but we'll make the best of it. It doesn't very much matter. The sooner they get used to me and the situation, the better. If there is any one sufficiently good-natured to foster them we will shift our responsibilities. I am going to monopolise you. I've been lonely ever since I said good-bye to you at Coerney."

He turned and walked beside her up the short path to the stoep.

"I'm glad to have you back," he said.

John and Mary, staring with round-eyed curiosity at the pair as they advanced, wondered why their aunt looked so shy, and why she coloured suddenly from neck to brow and looked down and spoke softly.

"It's good to be back," she replied.

They came to a halt at the steps; and John, remembering his manners, stood up, but continued to stare, unabashed.

"This is John," Esme said with greater confidence; and John held out a small, hot hand.

"How d'ye do?" he said, as one man to another.

Book 2--CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The young Bainbridges were not slow in coming to a conclusion in regard to the condition of affairs between Hallam and their aunt. John p.r.o.nounced Hallam as being "all right"; Mary thought him old. But then her aunt was rather old also; aunts are not girls. Mary viewed this mature romance with feminine curiosity. She thought it odd, but immensely interesting. She dogged their footsteps.

"I believe Mr Hallam is in love with Auntie," she confided to John, who probably unaided would not have discovered this surprising fact.

"I wonder!" John said, and pondered the announcement. "I think I'll ask him," he added.

He took an early opportunity of doing so. He waylaid the pair, returning from their morning walk, and planted himself in front of Hallam, looking squarely up at him, with his hands in his pockets, in an att.i.tude so reminiscent of his father as to move Esme to merriment. Her laugh ended in a strangled gurgle when John spoke.

"Are you going to marry Auntie, Mr Hallam?" John asked with a directness that would have disconcerted most people, but at which Hallam only smiled.

"I am," he answered. "I hope you don't object?"

"No; that's all right," John said amiably. "I only wanted to know."

And then he wandered off to join Mary and impart the result of his inquiries to her. Hallam looked at Esme, and turned about abruptly, and proceeded to walk with her away from the hotel.

"I think," she said hesitatingly, "that I ought to go in."

"Not yet," he said. "I want to talk to you. You may think that that was an odd sort of proposal; but the little chap forced my hand. It is amazing how sharp children are. Did you mind?"

"No," she replied, confused but extraordinarily happy. "I was a little unprepared though."

They had both taken things so much for granted that she had not noticed that he had never definitely asked her to marry him. That part of it did not seem to matter.

"You knew," he said, "how things were? I think we both a.s.sumed it from the moment you arrived. But John has put matters on a businesslike footing. I said I meant to marry you. I do--if you'll take me. You know what I am. I think you know more about me than any one. Any good that is in me is of your making--"

"No," she interrupted quickly. But he took no heed of that, and went on as if she had not spoken.