His patience at length worn out, he
again entered the avenue, half resolved to go up to the door.
All at once he heard voices--the voices of children, and toward
him came two little girls, followed by a young lady. They drew near.
Standing his ground, with muscles tense, Warburton glanced at the
young lady's face, and could not doubt that this was Rosamund's
sister; the features were much less notable than Rosamund's, but
their gentle prettiness made claim of kindred with her. Forthwith he
doffed his hat, and advanced respectfully.
"I think I am speaking to Miss Elvan?"
A nervous smile, a timidly surprised affirmative, put him a little
more at his ease.
"My name is Warburton," he pursued, with the half humorous air of
one who takes a liberty which he feels sure will be pardoned. "I
have the pleasure of knowing your relatives, the Pomfrets, and--"
"Oh, yes, my sister has often spoken of you," said Winifred quickly.
Then, as if afraid that she had committed an indiscretion, she cast
down her eyes and looked embarrassed.
"Your sister is here, I think," fell from Warburton, as he threw a
glance at the two little girls, who had drawn apart.
"Here? Oh, no. Not long ago she thought of coming, but--"
Will stood confounded. All manner of conjectures flashed through his
mind. Rosamund must have broken her journey somewhere. That she had
not left England at all seemed impossible.
"I was mistaken," he forced himself to remark carelessly.
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