"Peace and happiness also, I hope," sighed Bella. "I have plenty of peace, but very little happiness, save of the vegetable sort."
"When we are married," began Lister, then stopped short, biting his moustache—"we shall be very happy," he ended lamely, seeing that Bella looked inquiringly at him.
"That is obvious, since we love one another," she said somewhat tartly, for his hesitation annoyed her. "Why did you change the conclusion of your sentence?"
Lister threw himself down on the hard-baked ground and under the shadow of the tall blue-green corn stalks. "It just struck me that our marriage was very far distant," he said gloomily.
Bella sat beside him shoulder to shoulder, and hugged her knees. "Why should it be far distant?" she inquired. "If I love you, and you love me, no power on earth can keep us apart."
"Your father——"
"I shall disobey my father if it be necessary," she informed him serenely.
Lister looked at her through half-shut eyes, and noticed the firmness of her mouth and the clear, steady gaze of her eyes. "You have a strong will, I think, dear," he murmured admiringly.
"I have, Cyril—as strong as that of my father. When our two wills clash"—she shrugged—"there may be murder committed."
"Bella!"—the young man looked startled—"what dreadful things you say."