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When Grace reached Tarnside she met Gerald on the lawn and took him to the bench under the copper-beech. "Mr. Askew wants you to go to Ashness at four o'clock," she said. "Askew wants me!" Gerald exclaimed, with a start, and Grace thought he looked afraid. "Why?" "I don't know. He said it was important." Gerald looked hard at her. "Well, I suppose it is important.
The golden rain of laburnum, and deep rich red of hawthorn, were thrown up against the dark lustre of copper-beech, or the misty green of a graceful fir tree; white and purple lilac were divided by a light pink thorn, and on the tall chestnuts the red and white blossoms shone like candles on a giant Christmas tree.
If you wish, I'll take a look in and see if she's all right." "Please do;" and she smiled at him, lovely, enchanting. "You're the most beautiful woman in all this world!" "Am I?" Click! The light went out. There was a smothered laugh; and when the light flared up again, the aigrette in her copper-beech hair was all askew.
She had been wondering how her young grandpapa had got on with his sprained ankle, and longed to ask questions about him, but dared not venture even on the simplest. It was so easy to forget and ask too much. The day was rather hot, and the couch had been drawn into the shade of a great copper-beech. Mollie lay on her back, gazing up through the silky red foliage at the blue sky.
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