Maraton walked alone with Elisabeth on the following afternoon in the flower garden at Lyndwood.

She was apologising for some unexpected additions to the number of their guests.
"Mother always forgets whom she has asked down for the week-end," she said, "and my uncle is far too sweet about it.

I know that he wanted to have as much time as possible alone with you before Monday.

It is on Monday you go to Manchester, isn't it ?" "On Monday," he answered, a little absently.

"I have to make my bow to the democracy of your country in the evening." "I wish I could make up my mind, Mr.Maraton," she continued, "whether you have come over here for good or for evil." "For evil that good may come of it, I am afraid," he rejoined, "would be the kindest interpretation you could put upon my enterprise here." "The Spectator calls you the Missionary of Unrest." "The Spectator, I am afraid, will become more violent later on." "Let us sit down here for a moment," she suggested, pointing to a seat.
"You see, we are just at the top of this long pathway, and we get a view of the roses all the way down." "It is very beautiful," he admitted,--"far too beautiful." She raised her eyebrows.
"Too beautiful?
Is that possible ?" "Without a doubt," he declared.