The darling! And, dash it, if they were going to have vines to a pavilion, why didn't they have vines?
"Do you know," she said, "I don't believe you do believe any of these awful things could be true about me,"—her voice quickened here—"and do you know I just think it's lovely of you! I do!" And her dear voice dropped like the softer notes of a what's-its-name. Her hands lay in her lap and she was studying me in the kindest, sweetest way! And I wanted to tell her how good she was and how much I loved her, don't you know, but just then, behind the pavilion, came the gardener. He was talking to one of his assistants about slugs—dash slugs!
And then her face lighted again as though she would speak and I leaned eagerly toward her—waiting, expectant.
"When Arthur made his court at—" she began, and, by Jove, my jolly heart sank. If she would only drop Arthur and give me a chance to make my court, dash it! "Camelot, you know," she went on, and I almost groaned. What did I care that he came a lot? Perhaps, now, if I could divert her mind—
"Oh, I say, you know," I broke in interestedly, "what was it you were—er—humming—just now, don't you know."
"Vivian's song—don't you remember it?"
I tried to think, but I couldn't seem to place her, though I knew the whole line of 'em back to Lottie Gilson.
I finally had to shake my head.
She smiled. "Don't you know," she said:
"'I think you hardly know the tender rhyme
Of "trust me not at all or all in all."'"