'You may read it now—I will excuse you,' said Stella, and she went to gather clusters of the fragrant hymenosperum blossoms, picking out those that had just opened, which were pale cream, and mixing with them a few of those that had been opened a few days, which had assumed a delicate saffron tint. Then the clear musical song of a superb warbler rose near, and she saw one on a laurustinus bush not far off—a little male bird, gorgeous in its spring attire of shining pale azure and dark blue, its little tail erect as that of a fan tail pigeon.
Stella was away long enough to permit the perusal of many pages. But when she returned Langdale still stood engrossed with his letter. He looked hard at the girl as she drew near to him, and his face, usually so calm, betrayed curious signs of agitation.
'You have had no ill news, I hope?' said Stella softly.
'Ill news?—no. St. Charity, is it true—— But I have no right to force your confidence. Only there are affairs that hasten my departure for England—and there is something I want to know. Will you think my curiosity an abuse of our friendship?'
'Oh no, I am sure I shall not,' she answered promptly.
'Then—are you engaged to be married?'
'Certainly not. I was once, for a short time,' she added, colouring deeply; 'but it was a mistake.'
She saw his eyes suddenly grow radiant.
'Then, sweet St. Charity, I am going to ask a great favour. May I write to you after I get to England?'
His face was very pale, and his voice shaken. No one who heard and saw him could deem that the permission he asked was concerned with the interchange of merely friendly sentiments. Least of all Stella, whose quick insight played round even indifferent matters with the fellowship of wide sympathy.