"Those were the words we spoke to one another, sir."
"It was my wife who recalled them to me, and I wish you--in the event of your hopes being realised--to bear them in mind. It would be painful to me to see you lead an idle life, and it would be injurious to you. This quiet village opens out no opportunities to you; it is too narrow, too confined. I have found my place here as an active worker, but I doubt if you would do so."
"There is time to think of it, sir."
"Plenty of time. And now, if you like, we will join my wife and daughter."
"Have you said anything to Lauretta, sir?"
"No. I thought it best, and so did her mother, that her heart should be left to speak for itself."
Lauretta's mother received me with tender, wistful solicitude, and I observed nothing in Lauretta to denote that she had been prepared for the declaration I had come to make. After lunch I proposed to Lauretta to go out into the garden, and she turned to her mother and asked if she would accompany us.
"No, my child," said the mother, "I have things in the house to attend to."
So Lauretta and I went out alone.
It was a lovely day, and Lauretta had thrown a light lace scarf over her head. She was in gay spirits, not boisterous, for she is ever gentle, and she endeavoured to entertain me with innocent prattle, to which I found it difficult to respond. In a little while this forced itself upon her observation, and she asked me if I was not well.