A Shadowed Love by Fred M. White

A small party had gathered about the tea-table in Stanmere drawing-room. There was Molly, beaming with happiness, and looking shyly at a bronzed young man with a dark moustache and an expression on his face little less beatific than Molly's. Mary was quiet and thoughtful, with a look of perfect content in her eyes. Lady Stanmere was gentle and gracious, and Dick woefully ill at ease.

So far as Lady Stanmere's manner went, she might have been in blissful ignorance of that pretty little scene in the rose garden. Her headache had entirely gone; she was listening to some of Tom Seymour's American adventures with an air of interest. Dick was the only unhappy one of the party. Not that he was in the least ashamed of himself. In any case, Lady Stanmere must know in time, but Dick would have greatly preferred to have told her in his own way.