“Good-bye, Mr. Cooke; I am going home!” sung out Annie; and, before he had made up his mind whether his dignity would allow him to follow her, she had left the churchyard and disappeared from his sight behind the wall.
That decided him, and in a few strides he was out of the gate and crying humbly from behind her.
“Miss Langton, aren’t you coming to have another of those tarts you liked so much, as we arranged?”
“Not if you are going to stalk off to the other side of the road if I happen to say something you don’t agree with.”
“I beg your pardon. I am in a bad temper this morning, I suppose. I will agree with everything you say. I think Colonel Richardson is the nicest man I know.”
“Then there we sha’n’t agree,” said Annie, smiling; “for, although I think his manner is good, I don’t much care about him.”
“Don’t you?” interrogated Aubrey, delightedly! “I’m so glad! Do you know, I didn’t think he was the kind of man you would like much. Then you said what you did only to tease me?”
“Did I?” said Annie, surprised that he should make such a fuss about a trifle. “I don’t think I did. I say, shall we stay here next week, as we are not going to York?”
“No; we are going out of our route a little. The governor has got us a week at Beckham.”
“Beckham!” cried Annie, while all the color fled from her face.