Miss Stowe rose, and passed through the long window into the lighted empty room, decked as usual with many flowers; here she stood, looking at him, as he entered also.
"I have tried my best to prevent it," she said.
"You have."
"And you still insist?"
"I do."
"Very well; I consent. But you will not forget that I tried," she said. "Good-night."
The next morning at ten, as he entered the old amphitheatre, he saw her; she was sitting on one of the upper stone seats, under a statue of Diana.
"I would rather go to our old place," he said, as he came up; "the seat under the tree, you know."
"I like this better."
"As you prefer, of course. It will be more royal, more in state; but, to be in accordance with it, you should have been clothed in something majestic, instead of that soft, yielding hue."