Nothing would serve Ellinor,
then, but that she must carry out a table and have tea in the garden, on
the sunny side of the tree, among the roots of which she used to play
when a child. Miss Monro objected a little to this caprice of Ellinor's,
saying that it was too early for out-of-door meals; but Mr. Corbet
overruled all objections, and helped her in her gay preparations. She
always kept to the early hours of her childhood, although she, as then,
regularly sat with her father at his late dinner; and this meal _al
fresco_ was to be a reality to her and Miss Monro. There was a place
arranged for her father, and she seized upon him as he was coming from
the stable-yard, by the shrubbery path, to his study, and with merry
playfulness made him a prisoner, accusing him of disappointing them of
their ride, and drawing him more than half unwilling, to his chair by the
table. But he was silent, and almost sad: his presence damped them all;
they could hardly tell why, for he did not object to anything, though he
seemed to enjoy nothing, and only to force a smile at Ellinor's
occasional sallies. These became more and more rare as she perceived her
father's depression. She watched him anxiously. He perceived it, and
said--shivering in that strange unaccountable manner which is popularly
explained by the expression that some one is passing over the earth that
will one day form your grave--"Ellinor! this is not a day for out-of-door
tea.
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