"White lace curtains make a difference," said I. "So do black dresses. Why don't you wear your canary-colored satin?"
For just one instant, she stopped quite still. I was almost sure that I had frightened her too much; but perhaps it was only with curiosity that her eyes burnt through that thick impenetrable veil. Of course, she was curious. I guess how her heart set beating straight away.
"What do you know about my satin dress?" she asked, as we walked on again.
"I know a lot," said I; and then it seemed to me the moment I had been waiting for. I took the letter from my pocket.
"Are you good at keeping secrets?" I asked.
She bent her head. Every one is good at keeping secrets, but you must ask them first. They never know how good they are until they are waiting for a secret to be told.
"Well, I want you to read this letter," I went on. "Don't let the Miss Fennells see it. Tuck it away into your dress. Read it to-night, and when you can, let me have an answer. I don't know how you can manage it; you must find that out for yourself; but let me have an answer. I shall stay here in Ballysheen till I get it. You heard my name, didn't you? Bellairs—I'm staying with the Townshends. Send the answer there—to their house—if you can."
So I gave Clarissa the letter. I saw her bury it in the stiff bodice of that black prison dress where her heart beat warm against it.
I had given it only just in time. A few more paces and we had come to the end of the cliff path. Here, as you know, it broadens to a wide road and the wall begins, protecting the field where stands the Miss Fennells' house.
By clever manœuvring they made us all come into line, and we walked the remainder of the distance, talking of such ordinary things as the Miss Fennells are conversant with. Their range of topics, I must admit, is most limited even then. When we had said good-night and I had felt the first touch of Clarissa's hand—a slight hesitating little hand it is—Bellwattle and I walked home.