They stood looking out of the window.
“You know I’d like to stop with you; it can’t be helped; but I shall come back.”
“Do you think you’ll come back?”
“Of course I shall come back. Where should I go if I did not come back?”
At that moment Agnes drove up in a hansom; she ran up the little garden, and carried out Evelyn’s bag and placed it in the hansom.
“I must go now, father; good-bye, darling. I shan’t be away more than seven or eight days.”
A moment after her dear father was behind her, and she was alone in the hansom, driving towards the convent. About her were villas engarlanded with reddening creeper. On one lawn a family had assembled under the shade of a dwarf cedar, and miles of this kind of landscape lay before her. It seemed to her like painted paper, an illusion that migh
