He had recently come in for an unexpected windfall—a legacy of four hundred a year—he could afford to marry and live quietly; his rapid brain sketched the programme in a flash, and arranged the details of his plans with calm celerity; her three hundred pounds would buy the trousseau, etc., and he would take her to the hills for the honeymoon; they would go to Cashmere. With Verona in Cashmere! Ah, but would Verona come? He would have a good try, at any rate!
"This is a capital little station," he remarked, with a swoop to mundane matters.
"At any rate, it seems to have made an immense impression on you," she rejoined, with a smile; "this is the second time you have praised it within five minutes!"
"Yes, so it is. I think after the races I shall stop on—I have some leave due, I should like to put it in here."
"And have some duck-shooting?"
"No—I was—thinking of golf with you—there are links, I know——"
"Oh, but I never play now."
"Then you must begin, again—it's splendid exercise. Do you remember you started me at golf, and I'm now quite a respectable performer. I wonder," suddenly lowering his voice, "if you remember—something else?"
They were standing close to the railings which enclosed the course. Verona looked at him with a hot colour in her face.
"That I called you my Princess—you are my Princess still——"