"But it is still raining."
She leaned forward and looked down at Dexter again; he was standing under a tree wiping his hat with his handkerchief.
"Please let me go down," she said, entreatingly, like a child.
"No," said Heathcote, smiling back, and taking her hand as if to make sure. "Do you remember the evening after the quarry affair, Anne? and that I took your hand, and held it as I am doing now? Did you think me impertinent?"
"I thought you very kind. After that I did not mind what grandaunt had said."
"And what had she said? But no matter; something disagreeable, without doubt. Even the boys who frequent this retreat could not well have grimier hands than we have now: look at them. No, you can not be released, unless you promise."
"What?"
"Not to go down until I give you leave: I will give it soon."
"I promise."
With a quiet pressure, and one rather long look, he relinquished her hand, and leaned back against the rock again.