“Yes, yes!” she said, hurriedly, as the Major paused for a moment; “and so the Duke’s gardener was jealous because you carried away the prize?”

“I never saw a man more put out in my life,” said the Major.  “He shook his fist at my flowers and said before everybody, ’Let the old Major only wait till autumn and then see if my dahlias don’t—­’ But yonder comes Geordie.  Bless my heart! what has he been doing at Eastbury all this time?”

Janet’s instinct had not deceived her; she had heard and recognised his footstep a full minute before the Major knew that he was near.  She gave one quick, shy glance round as he opened the gate, and then she wandered a yard or two further down the path.

“Good-morning, uncle,” said Captain George, as he came up.  “You set out for Deepley Walls so early this morning that I did not see you before you started.  I am glad to find that you did not come back alone.”

Janet had turned as he began to speak, but did not come back to the Major’s side.  Captain George advanced a few steps and lifted his hat.

“Good-morning, Miss Hope,” he said, with outstretched hand.  “I need hardly say how pleased I am to see you at the Lindens.  My uncle has succeeded so well on his first embassy that we must send him again, and often, on the same errand.”

Janet murmured a few words in reply—­what, she could not afterwards have told; but as her eyes met his for a moment, she read in them something that made her forgive him on the spot, even while she declared to herself that she had nothing to forgive, and that brought to her cheek a second blush more vivid than the first.

“All very well, young gentleman,” said the Major; “but you have not yet explained your four hours’ absence.  We shall order you under arrest unless you have some reasonable excuse to submit.”

“The best of all excuses—­that of urgent business,” said the Captain.

“You! business!” said the laughing Major.  “Why, it was only last night that you were bewailing your lot as being one of those unhappy mortals who have no work to do.”

“To those they love, the gods lend patient hearing.  I forget the Latin, but that does not matter just now.  What I wish to convey is this—­that I need no longer be idle unless I choose.  I have found some work to do.  Lend me your ears, both of you.  About an hour after you, sir, had started for Deepley Walls, I received a note from the editor of the Eastbury Courier, in which he requested me to give him an early call.  My curiosity prompted me to look in upon him as soon as breakfast was over.  I found that he was brother to the editor of one of the London magazines—­a gentleman whom I met one evening at a party in town.  The London editor remembered me, and had written to the Eastbury editor to make arrangements with me for writing a series of magazine articles on India and my experiences there during the late mutiny.  I need not bore you with details; it is sufficient to say that my objections were talked down one by one; and I left the office committed to a sixteen-page article by the sixth of next month.”