"Pauline, would you?"
"Ah, no I wouldn't," she whispered. "Because I could not love you more that I do now."
The dog with a sigh dropped his stick: he was become accustomed to these interludes.
"Bob gives us up as hopeless," Guy laughed.
"I'm not a bit sympathetic, you jealous dog," she said. "Because you have your master all day long."
The next time Guy came to the Rectory, he brought with him the manuscript, so that Pauline could seal it for luck; and they sat in the nursery, while Guy for the last enumeration turned over the pages one by one.
"It represents so much," he said, "and it looks so little. My father will be rather surprized. I told him I should wait another year. I wonder if I ought to have waited."
"Oh, no," said Pauline. "Everything else is waiting and waiting. It makes me so happy to think of these pages flying away like birds."
"I hope they won't be like homing pigeons," said Guy. "It will be rather a blow if William Worrall rejects them."
"Oh, but how could he be so foolish."