"Nor I?" asked Monica.
"You don't at all!" Pauline declared.
"Well, if it means being like Miss Verney, I hope I never shall," said Monica.
"Now, children, children," interrupted Mrs. Grey. "You must not be cross with one another."
"Well, Mother, Margaret and Monica are not to laugh at Miss Verney," Pauline insisted. "And to-morrow Guy and I want as a great exception to go for a walk to Wychford down. May we?"
"Well, as a great exception, yes," said Mrs. Grey; and Guy with apparently an access of grateful industry said he must go home and work.
Pauline wondered what Guy would have to tell her to-morrow, and she fell asleep that night, hoping she would not be shy to-morrow; for, since Guy was still no more to Pauline than the personification of a vague and happy love just as Miss Verney's miniature was the personification of one that was not happy, she always was a little alarmed when the personification became real.
Wychford down seemed to rest on billowy clouds next morning, so light was Pauline's heart, so light was the earth on which she walked; and when Guy kissed her the larks in their blue world were not far away, so near did she soar upon his kiss to the rays of their glittering plumes.
"Every time I see you," said Guy, "the world seems to offer itself to us more completely. I never kissed you before under the sky like this."
She wished he would not say the actual word, for it made her realize herself in his arms, and brought back in a flood all her shyness.