“She will be here to-night,” said Ralph, who knew the trains from Barport.

As soon as he had read the letter Ralph went to look for Cicely.  She had come down late to breakfast, and he had been surprised at her soberness of manner.  On the other hand, Mrs. Drane had been surprised at Ralph’s soberness of manner, and she found herself in the unusual position of the liveliest person at the breakfast table.

“People who have heard such good news ought to be very happy,” she thought, but she made no remark on the subject.

It was Cicely’s custom to spend the brief time she allowed herself between breakfast and work, upon the lawn, or somewhere out of doors, but to-day Ralph searched in vain for her.  He met La Fleur, however, and that conscientious cook, in her most respectful manner, asked him, if he happened to meet Miss Cicely, would he be so good as to give her a message?

“But I don’t know where she is,” said Ralph.  “I have a letter to show her.”

La Fleur wished very much to know what was in the letter, which, she supposed, explained the mystery of the telegrams, but at a moment like this she would not ask.

“She is in the garden, sir,” she said.  “I asked her to gather me some lettuce for luncheon.  She does it so much more nicely than I could do it, or Mike.  She selects the crispest and most tender leaves of that crimped and curled lettuce you all like so much, and I thought I would ask you, sir, if you met her, to be so very kind as to tell her that I would like a few sprigs of parsley, just a very few.  I would go myself, sir, but there is something cooking which I cannot leave, and I beg your pardon for troubling you and will thank you, sir, very much if you—­”

It was not worth while for her to finish her sentence, for Ralph had gone.

He found Cicely just as she stooped over the lettuce bed.  She rose with a face like a peach blossom.

“I have a letter from Miriam,” he said, “I will give it to you presently, and you may read the whole of it, but I must first tell you that she, with Mrs. Bannister and Dora, are coming home to-day.  They will reach Thorbury late this afternoon.  Isn’t that glorious?”

All the delicate hues of the peach blossom went out of Cicely’s face.  That everlasting person had come up again, and now he called her Dora, and it was glorious to have her back!  She did not have to say anything, for Ralph went rapidly on.

“But before they leave Barport,” he said, “I want to send Miriam a telegram.  If Mike takes it immediately to Thorbury, she will get it before her train leaves.”

“A telegram!” exclaimed Cicely, but she did not look up at him.

“Yes,” said he; “I want to telegraph to Miriam that you and I are engaged to be married.  I want her to know it before she gets here.  Shall I send it?”

She raised to him a face more brightly hued than any peach blossom—­rich with the color of the ripe fruit.  Ten minutes after this, two wood doves, sitting in a tree to the east of the lettuce bed, and looking westward, turned around on their twig and looked toward the east.  They were sunny-minded little creatures, and did not like to be cast into the shade.