Lovers' Vows by Joan Smith

marched it with Mr. Prendergast. “Never mind. You will soon love Rex. He has an insinuating way about him, like a puppy. Odd how we come to love those who cause us the most trouble.”
    “I have never noticed that.”
    “Think about it,” he suggested. Then they were silent for a few moments. After a while, he said, “I did not mean necessarily to devote your mind to a study of it at this moment. Please feel free to think of anything you like, and even to mention it.”
    She took this, as indeed it was intended, as a hint to talk to him. “A pity the weather has been so bad for the hunting,” she said.
    This platitude may as well have remained unspoken. He did not acknowledge it at all, but said, “I hope you too will be home when we call tomorrow morning. There is a matter we would like to discuss with you. I think you are the more likely one than your cousin to discuss it with.”
    “What matter is that?” she asked, curious.
    “It’s a long story. We shan’t go into it tonight, but that voice of yours is superb.”
    This cryptic statement left her wondering what on earth he could have in mind. He went right on to another subject before she could gain any idea what he meant and, too soon, the waltz was over.
    Lady Proctor’s spirits were so high on the way home that Holly did not wish to depress them with a recital of the truth. It would be learned soon enough and, meanwhile, she could hug the memory of the evening to herself, and cosset her little mystery and her few rags of compliments.
    It really does not do to worry a trivial conversation too much, she discovered. Dewar spoke of not having had an opportunity to thank her, but he had taken no step to make the opportunity. He had not intended dancing with her till Aunt Elsa forced the issue.
    She soon came to think it was ill-done of him to leave her wondering for hours what he wished to discuss on the morrow. He might have given a hint. It was inconsiderate to leave a person wondering all night. What on earth could it be?
----
     
Chapter 5
     
    It was unthinkable that anyone leave the house when Lord Dewar had promised to call. Even when morning grew into afternoon, and still he did not come, there was no mention by Lady Proctor of doing anything but sitting in the saloon in her second-best gown, waiting for him. Jane, deeply into a novel, had little objection to this. Holly, with her mind half on the orphans’ shirts awaiting her needle, resented the waste of time for, of course, it was impossible to be caught sewing by such prestigious callers.
    Long before luncheon, she had deserted the saloon and gone to her own room, to sew and wonder and, finally, to resent such thoughtless treatment. It was not long after luncheon when she was called down; but the visitor was not Dewar. It was only Mr. Johnson, ostensibly come to check on the progress of the shirts but, in fact, to gossip over the assembly, like any old maid.
    “Quite an addition to our little society, Lord Dewar's party. The girls are all twittering this morning. I expected to see you in Harknell on a Saturday morning, ladies,” he said, lifting his coattails to take a seat.
    “We were waiting for Lord Dewar to call. Holly thought he said he would come in the morning, but it seems she was mistaken, for he did not come,” Lady Proctor told him.
    “Very likely,” Johnson answered, but Holly knew she was not mistaken. “He was so very busy this morning in the village that I had not a chance to talk to him about the money for the orphanage. I hoped when I saw him in the village that he would call on me, return my call, that is, but he didn’t get round to it.”
    “What was he doing?” Lady Proctor asked, with shameless curiosity.
    “He was at the post office and in the shops.”
    “He would be tending to business for his mama,” she decided. “He called on Mr. Raymond, her solicitor, I warrant.”
    “No, he did not. I happened to be speaking to Mr. Raymond, and he had some hopes Dewar