Here the conversation took a distinctly amatory turn, and would probably hardly interest the reader. But, under the influences of the blind god, the stern student of the "Dairyman's Daughter" seemed to thaw. She took the proffered arm of her adorer, and, like all women in love, seemed to derive a pleasure from the peculiarly pungent aroma of his cigar.
"And how did we pass our time, my Hephzibah; did we amuse ourselves? Have you nothing to tell me, my beloved, nothing to confide to me?"
The lady's maid shook her head. "Except that I've been worked off my legs as you may suppose, what can I have to tell you?"
"Ah!" remarked the valet. "I can fancy that my Hephzibah always fulfils her duties to her mistress, but perhaps my too perfect angel forgets that between betrothed persons there should be no secrets."
"You don't mean to say you're jealous, Capt?" she exclaimed, as she raised her face to his.
"My love, you are discretion itself; I know you never betray a secret."
"If I had one, Capt, you would worm it out of me," she said with a smile and a perceptible pressure on his arm.
"Yes, my love, I should worm it out," he replied with intention.
Hephzibah took no notice of this remark.
"The mist is very damp, and I am very tired, Maurice; I must be going in; my mistress will wonder what has become of me, so good-night."