She struggled with some rising emotion. But her voice was clear and firm as she answered:
'Yes—you may; and here is a little bouquet I have gathered for you.'
He took it and held it to his lips. And then for a little time, as they turned homeward, neither spoke. There are moments in life when speech is an impertinence—when words the most winged and penetrating are too leaden-soled for the thoughts that rise in endless succession—swift and golden as sun-rays glancing upon waves.
'I shall write to your mother and Hector, you know, at the same time,' he said, as they drew near the house.
'But the longest letter must be to me,' she answered, trying to speak lightly; 'and it must be very wise, and partly in German.'
'When do you leave, St. Charity?'
'On the fifteenth—eleven days from this. And you?'
'I should like to leave the same day you do, only I must stay till Morrison gets his assistant. He is overdone and overworked. But he is advertising in the Melbourne and Adelaide papers. I shall be back in four months, I suppose, from the time I sail. Will you——'
He stopped abruptly. He was evidently struggling with conflicting currents of thought. Stella, who, in the tumult of her own emotion, was keenly conscious of the agitation that betrayed itself in Langdale's voice and manner, tried in vain to speak of some indifferent subject. But seeing Louise near at hand among the shrubs, her courage returned.
CHAPTER XXXIII.