"Mr Croft," said she, "when you used to come, nearly every day, to see me at Midbranch, and we took those long walks in the woods, you never talked in this way. I considered you as a gentleman whose prudence and good sense would not allow him to step outside of the path of perfectly conventional social intercourse. This is not conventional and not prudent."
"I loved you then, and I love you now;" exclaimed Lawrence. "You must have known that I loved you, for my declaration does not in the least surprise you."
"Once—it was the last time you visited Midbranch—I suspected, just a little, that your mind might be affected somewhat in the way you speak of, but I supposed that attack of weakness had passed away."
"I know what you mean," said Lawrence, "but I can't endure to talk of such trifles. I love you, Roberta—"
"Miss March," she interrupted.
"And I want you to tell me if you love me in return."
Miss March rose from the rock where she had been sitting, and her companion rose with her. After a moment's silence, during which he watched her with intense eagerness, she said: "Mr Croft, I am going to give you your choice. Would you prefer being refused under a cherry tree, or under a sycamore?"
There was a little smile on her lips as she said this, which Lawrence could not interpret.
"I decline being refused under any tree," he said with vehemence.
"I prefer the cherry tree," said she, "there is a very pretty one over there on the ridge of this hill, and its leaves are nearly all gone, which would make it quite appropriate—but what is the meaning of this? There comes Peggy. It isn't possible that she thinks it's time for me to give out something to Aunt Judy."