"You must--till to-morrow morning. Listen to the nightingale. Is it not sweet?"
"To-morrow morning, you say. An eternity! How am I to be sure you will not disappear before then?"
"I shall be here, in the woods, at sunrise. Could I keep away, knowing you were waiting for me? There--you make me say foolish things!"
"Give me your hand, Nansie."
She put her hand out of the window; her white arm was partly bared by the loosened sleeve. He, standing on the spoke of the wheel, took her hand and kissed it, and then did not relinquish it.
"You are well, Nansie?"
"Yes, Kingsley."
"Quite well?"
"Quite well."
"And your father?"