He took his watch from his pocket and looked at it. "Ten minutes past seven—and she promised to be here at six. I shall not wait much longer."
He spoke the words aloud, and a breath of wind seemed to move the trees to respond; it was as though they said, "He is no true knight to say that."
A hush fell over them, the bees rested on the thyme, the butterflies nestled close to the blue-bells, the little brook ran on as though it were wild with joy. Presently a footstep was heard, and then the long expected one appeared. With something between a sigh and a smile she held out one little white hand to him. "I hardly thought you would wait for me, Claude. You are very patient."
"I would wait twice seven years for only one look at your face," he rejoined.
"Would you?" interrogated the girl wearily. "I would not wait so long even for a fairy prince."
She sat down on the heather-covered bank, and took off her hat. She fanned herself with it for a few minutes, and then flung it carelessly among the flowers.
"You do not seem very enraptured at seeing me, Hyacinth," said the young lover reproachfully. The girl sighed wearily.
"I do not believe I could go into a rapture over any thing in the world," she broke out. "I am so tired of my life—so tired of it, Claude, that I do not believe I could get up an interest in a single thing."
"I hope you feel some little interest in me," he said.
"I—I—I cannot tell. I think even bitterest pain would be better than the dead monotony that is killing me."