But ten minutes later she saw Mr. Woods in the distance striding across the sunlit terraces, and was seized with a conviction that their interview was likely to prove a stormy one. There was an ominous stiffness in his gait.
"Oh, dear, dear!" Miss Hugonin wailed; "he's in a temper now, and he'll probably be just as disagreeable as it's possible for any one to be. I do wish men weren't so unreasonable! He looks exactly like a big, blue-eyed thunder-cloud just now--just now, when I'm sure he has every cause in the world to be very much pleased--after all I've done for him. He makes me awfully tired. I think he's very ungrateful. I--I think I'm rather afraid."
In fact, she was. Now that the meeting she had anticipated these twelve hours past was actually at hand, there woke in her breast an unreasoning panic. Miss Hugonin considered, and caught up her skirts, and whisked into the summer-house, and there sat down in the darkest corner and devoutly wished Mr. Woods in Crim Tartary, or Jericho, or, in a word, any region other than the gardens of Selwoode.
Billy came presently to the opening in the hedge and stared at the deserted bench. He was undeniably in a temper. But, then, how becoming it was! thought someone.
"Miss Hugonin!" he said, coldly.
Evidently (thought someone) he intends to be just as nasty as possible.
"Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, after a little.
Perhaps (thought someone) he won't be very nasty.
"Dear Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, in his most conciliatory tone.
Someone rearranged her hair complacently.
But there was no answer, save the irresponsible chattering of the birds, and with a sigh Billy turned upon his heel.
Then, by the oddest chance in the world, Margaret coughed.
I dare say it was damp in the summer-house; or perhaps it was caused by some passing bronchial irritation; or perhaps, incredible as it may seem, she coughed to show him where she was. But I scarcely think so, because Margaret insisted afterward--very positively, too--that she didn't cough at all.
