It was an outburst of eloquence, and she took it in the prettiest way—­with the prettiest laugh, which had in it no touch of mockery or disbelief in him.

“What I have said is quite final—­if Lady Alanby should inquire,” she said—­adding rather quickly, “Someone is coming.”

It pleased her to see that he did not hurry to his feet clumsily, but even stood upright, with a shade of boyish dignity, and did not release her hand before he had bent his head low over it again.

Sir Nigel was bringing with him Lady Alanby, Mrs. Manners, and his wife, and when Betty met his eyes, she knew at once that he had not made his way to this particular garden without intention.  He had discovered that she was with Tommy, and it had entertained him to break in upon them.

“I did not intend to interrupt Sir Thomas at his devotions,” he remarked to her after dinner.  “Accept my apologies.”

“It did not matter in the least, thank you,” said Betty.

. . . . .

“I am glad to be able to say, Thomas, that you did not look an entire fool when you got up from your knees, as we came into the rose garden.”  Thus Lady Alanby, as their carriage turned out of Stornham village.

“I’m glad myself,” Tommy answered.

“What were you doing there?  Even if you were asking her to marry you, it was not necessary to go that far.  We are not in the seventeenth century.”

Then Tommy flushed.

“I did not intend to do it.  I could not help it.  She was so—­so nice about everything.  That girl is an angel.  I told her so.”

“Very right and proper spirit to approach her in,” answered the old woman, watching him keenly.  “Was she angel enough to say she would marry you?”

Tommy, for some occult reason, had the courage to stare back into his grandmother’s eyes, quite as if he were a man, and not a hobbledehoy, expecting to be bullied.

“She does not want me,” he answered.  “And I knew she wouldn’t.  Why should she?  I did what you ordered me to do, and she answered me as I knew she would.  She might have snubbed me, but she has such a way with her—­such a way of saying things and understanding, that—­that—­well, I found myself on one knee, kissing her hand—­as if I was being presented at court.”

Old Lady Alanby looked out on the passing landscape.

“Well, you did your best,” she summed the matter up at last, “if you went down on your knees involuntarily.  If you had done it on purpose, it would have been unpardonable.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

RED GODWYN