"Oh, Jack!" said she. She was laughing, but the tears were in her eyes. Quickly she released her hands from his, and then threw them round his neck. "I shan't make an end of you," she said.
....
"Well, that's settled, I suppose," said he. "But I shall always feel I have been selfish towards you. But, however, it's done now. And, Agatha, I wish you could see the house. It's a cottage, you know."
"I know. I've seen it."
"Only the outside. But inside it isn't half bad, and there are two of the rooms very pretty, and it is covered all over with ivy. Mr. Greatorex was very good to me on my coming here, so some of the rooms are decent enough, but"—shyly and tenderly— "hardly good enough for you."
"For me!" Agatha grew softly pink. "It would be heaven!" said she in a low tone. That he should think otherwise, that he should imagine she would not be happy with him anywhere! Was there ever such sweet folly?
"There is quite a nice little room on the south side," Dillwyn was saying, Agatha's cheek pressed against his—"a very pretty room. That would be your drawing-room, and the one opposite, that would be the dining-room. It is very small, certainly; in fact, the word 'dining-room' seems too grand for it."
Here Agatha sighed heavily.
"What is it, darling?" asked he anxiously. "You don't like the prospect? Certainly it is small."
"I'll tell you what it is," said she, looking at him seriously: "it is too good to be true—all of it. It will never be mine. That drawing-room, that dining-room, that whole lovely cottage, will never be mine. It would be too much happiness. You forget Aunt Hilda. She will never give her consent—never!"