Joan, girlish and simple and extremely young, sped after him, and with rosy cheeks arrived at the goal before her lover.
"Come," said the curate, wiping his heated brow, "considering I won three flat races at the 'varsity, that's not bad, Joan."
"You humbug, as if I didn't see that you let me win.
"I'll be a tyrant after marriage," said Lionel, merrily. "Enjoy your little day, my love!"
"I am enjoying this day," said Joan, as they walked rapidly towards the park gates; "but what will Lady Canvey say?"
"Pooh! What does it matter? She was young herself a century ago."
"She's a dear old woman."
"No," contradicted Lionel, critically; "she is old and clever, but I should not call her a dear. That word suits some one else."
"Me," cried Joan, triumphantly.
"How clever of you to guess that! Hulloa, who is this?"