“I do not wish to be complimentary,” said Lothair, “if compliments mean less than they declare. I was not thinking of your garden, but of you.”
“Where can they have all gone?” said Lady Corisande, looking round. “We must find them.”
“And leave this garden?” said Lothair. “And I without a flower, the only one without a flower? I am afraid that is significant of my lot.”
“You shall choose a rose,” said Lady Corisande.
“Nay; the charm is, that it should be your choice.”
But choosing the rose lost more times and, when Corisande and Lothair reached the arches of golden yew, there were no friends in sight.
“I think I hear sounds this way,” said Lothair, and he led his companion farther from home.
“I see no one,” said Lady Corisande, distressed, and when they had advanced a little way.
“We are sure to find them in good time,” said Lothair. “Besides, I wanted to speak to you about the garden at Muriel. I wanted to induce you to go there and help me to make it. Yes,” he added, after some hesitation, “on this spot—I believe on this very spot—I asked the permission of your mother two years ago to express to you my love. She thought me a boy, and she treated me as a boy. She said I knew nothing of the world, and both our characters were unformed. I know the world now. I have committed many mistakes, doubtless many follies—have formed many opinions, and have changed many opinions; but to one I have been constant, in one I am unchanged—and that is my adoring love to you.”
She turned pale, she stopped, then, gently taking his arm, she hid her face in his breast.