“Yes, I do—at least, I shall when I’ve been with you a little while. And I’ve quite taken to reading, and——Oh, I shall get on capitally!”
“But what would you do without your dogs and your horses, Harry?”
“Do you think I can’t get on without dogs and horses,” said he impatiently. “I suppose you think I can’t be happy unless I am loafing about a stable with my inferiors—only you wouldn’t call them my inferiors!”
“How silly you are, Harry! When have I said anything like that to you?”
“You did only a few minutes ago.”
“I did not mean it. I think it is a pity for you, who are devoted to the life of a country gentleman, to give up all your pleasures just to settle down to a life which would not suit you.”
“But it isn’t just for that, Annie; that is where you’re wrong. If I cared for nothing but the country, I should stay there. I can get on without horses, though I am fond of riding and driving, as you know; and I can get on without dogs, though I miss old Ponto every other minute; but I can’t get on without you, Annie. I have tried, but it is no good; so, as you won’t come into the country with me, I must come to town to you.”
Annie was silent, more puzzled by, than grateful for, this devotion. Then she said, in a low voice:
“I can’t accept such a sacrifice, Harry.”
“Then will you come back to the Grange with me?”