I am engaged to Freda
Merrifield, and am the happiest fellow in the world. They are
awfully fastidious sort of people, and I do not believe Sir Richard
would have consented to such a match had it not been for that lucky
impulse which made me rescue Dick Fleming. It has all been arranged
very quickly, as these things should be, but we have seen a good
deal of each other--first at Aldershot the year before last, and
just lately in town, and now these four days down here--and days in
a country house are equal to weeks elsewhere. I enclose a letter to
my father--give it to him at a suitable moment--but, after all, he's
sure to approve of a daughter-in-law with such a dowry as Miss
Merrifield is likely to have.
"Yours affly.,
"Lawrence Vaughan."
I gave him back the letter without a word. In dead silence we moved
on, took a turning which led to a little narrow gate, and passed out
of the grounds to the wild moorland country beyond.
After all, Freda was in no way to blame. As a mere girl she had
allowed Derrick to see that she cared for him; then circumstances
had entirely separated them; she saw more of the world, met
Lawrence, was perhaps first attracted to him by his very likeness to
Derrick, and finally fell in love with the hero of the season, whom
every one delighted to honour.
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