“It seems such a thing,” she said, “for him to forget my mother.”
“Ah—well; he is only mortal, I suppose.”
“Then do you think everyone forgets, Mr. Temple?”
“I think men—” and then he paused. “I know someone that I never could forget,” he continued.
May did not inquire who this “someone” was.
“Someone whose face I would dream of if I did not see it for twenty years,” went on John, energetically.
“It would be changed in twenty years,” replied May, with a little sigh.
“Not in my eyes; in my eyes it could never change.”
This was the way in which John kept to his resolution. They went into the garden awhile after this, and sat listening to a black bird singing to his mate. Then they went to May’s fernery, and walked beneath the shadow of the trees, and talked fond foolish words. May forgot all about her father’s marriage and her hated stepmother. She was with the man she liked best in all the world, and she believed he loved her. What happiness is like this? The golden hours of youth and hope; the vague foreshadowings of still greater joy.
Before they parted John had promised to call again.