"But I do not feel hungry. It is food enough for me to sit here and feast upon the sight of your face, your beautiful face!"
"You frenzied boy! I see that I must take care of you. Come, now that we have recovered our breath, we will go on a little further to a nice, quiet, suburban inn, kept by an old maid. I have never been there myself, but I have seen it in driving by with the rector's family. It is such a nice place that the school children go there to have picnic parties in the grounds. We will go and engage a parlor, and have a quiet little breakfast or dinner, whichever you may please, for it shall combine the luxuries of both. Now will you go?" said Mary Grey, rising from her shady seat.
"Of course, if you wish me to do so; but indeed I do not need anything."
"But I do; for I breakfasted at seven o'clock this morning, before going to the Sunday-school. It is now one o'clock. I have been fasting six hours, and as I intend to spend the most of the day with you, I shall miss our luncheon at home; for, you see, we are deadly fashionable at the Misses Cranes'. We lunch at two and dine at six. So come along."
Craven Kyte arose and gave her his arm, and they walked on together until they reached the little cottage, half farmhouse, half hotel, that was so well-kept by the nice old maiden hostess.
The good woman looked rather surprised to see Sunday visitors walk into her house.
But Mary Grey, prayer-book ostentatiously in hand, took her aside, out of the hearing of Craven Kyte, and explained:
"I and my brother walked in from the country to attend church this morning. We have a carriage and might have ridden, only we do not think it is right to make the horses work on Sunday, do you?"
"No, miss, I candidly don't; and that's a fact," replied the good creature.
"Mrs.," amended Mary Grey, with a smile.