“You will allow me,” he said hopefully, “to walk a little way with you?”
“I am not able to prevent it—if you think it worth while,” she answered.
He looked down—he was by her side now—in good-humoured protest.
“Come, Ernestine,” he said, “you mustn't bear malice against me. Perhaps I was a little hasty when I spoke so strongly about your work. I don't like your doing it and never shall like it, but I've said all I want to. You won't let it divide us altogether, will you?”
“For the present,” she answered, “it occupies the whole of my time, and the whole of my thoughts.”
“To the utter exclusion, I suppose,” he remarked, “of me?”
She laughed gaily.
“My dear Cecil! when have I ever led you to suppose for a moment that I have ever wasted any time thinking of you?”
He was determined not to be annoyed, and he ignored both the speech and the laugh.
“May I inquire how you are getting on?”