‘I curtsied, as the children do, thrice ... and each time, while you were talking solemnly to grandpapa, I said, quite in a whisper——’
‘Don’t mind punctuation, Miss Bartrand. It will be the sooner over.’
‘“I like my coach—may my coach like me!”’ cried Marjorie, nearly in tears, but giving to the refrain the true sing-song of the nursery. ‘Remember, sir, when I was so inane I had only known you two hours, and—and I believed you to be the other Mr. Arbuthnot.’
Geoffrey slipped down to his feet. As Marjorie was standing on the bank, it thus happened that their faces were on a level, and very near each other. Geoffrey observed, more closely than he had done before, the texture of her skin—delicate, in spite of sunburn, as perfect health and Guernsey air could render it. He looked into the depths of her gray eyes, even in their quietest expression touched with fire. He admired the character, so superior to all mere prettiness, of her serious large mouth.
‘The wish has come true,’ he whispered, in a tone never to be forgotten by Marjorie Bartrand, ‘although I have the misfortune of being myself, not Gaston. Let me help you.’
He held out his hands, but Marjorie, with her agile young strength, had cleared the ditch almost before his assistance was proffered. They paused a moment or two irresolute, they discussed a little as to latitude and longitude, and then away the two started, in the direction of Courseulles, across the cornfields.
A third figure, dove-winged, golden-quivered, walked with them, although they might not discern his presence.