"You asked me to be quiet, so that you could think," he remarked lazily; "may I ask what you have been considering?"
She surveyed him quietly. "You may ask; but I am not sure if I will reply."
"See here, my dearest"—Cyril struggled to his knees, and took her hand firmly within his own—"you are altogether too independent a young woman. You always want your own way, I perceive."
"It will never clash with yours," said Bella, smiling.
"Why not?"
"Because you will always wish to do what I desire, and I will always be anxious to act as you indicate. You have your line of life, and I have mine, but the two are one."
"Humph! At school I learned that two parallel straight lines never met."
"Ah, Euclid was a bachelor, and ignorant. They meet in marriage, for then the two lines blend into one. What's the matter?"
She asked this question because Cyril suddenly let go her hands and swerved, blinking his eyes rapidly. "A sudden flash almost blinded me. Some one is heliographing hereabouts." He stood up, considerably taller than the already tall corn, and stared in the direction of the manor, shading his eyes with one slim hand. "There's someone on the roof there and——"
Bella pulled the sleeve of his coat, with a stifled cry. "Oh, sit down, do sit down," she implored. "It must be my father on his quarter-deck. The flash, perhaps, came from his telescope, and if he sees you—do sit down."