She knew that in the lady superintendent's absence the servants would hold high revels; there was no fear of interruption.
In after life Marion Arleigh remembered every detail of that evening.

It was May then, and the hedge was white with hawthorn; there was a gleam of gold from the laburnums, and the scent of the lilacs filled the air; the apple trees were all in blossom, the birds were singing, the sun shining, warmth and fragrance and beauty lay all around her.
Far down the orchard, standing sketching a picturesque old tree, was the artist, Allan Lyster.

He looked up as the sound of light footsteps rustled in the grass.

When he saw who was coming he flung down his pencils and advanced, hat in hand.
There was something graceful and poetical, after all, in the way in which he went up to Miss Arleigh and knelt lightly on one knee.
"I would kiss the hem of your robe if I dared," he said.

"How am I to thank you ?" Then he sprang up and took his sister's hand in his.