For a whole month our engagement was kept a profound secret.
Only Shuttleworth and his wife knew. The first-named had been
compelled to bow to the inevitable, and for him, it must be said that
he behaved splendidly. Sylvia remained his guest, and on several days
each week I travelled down from Waterloo to Andover and spent the warm
summer hours with her, wandering in the woods, or lounging upon the
pretty lawn of the old rectory.
The rector had ceased to utter warnings, yet sometimes I noticed a
strange, apprehensive look upon his grave countenance. Elsie Durnford
still remained there, and she and Sylvia were close friends.
Through those four happy weeks I had tried to get into communication
with Mr. Pennington. I telegraphed to an address in Scotland which
Sylvia had given me, but received no reply. I then telegraphed to the
Caledonian Hotel in Edinburgh, and then learned, with considerable
surprise, that nobody named Pennington was, or had been, staying
there.