“Hang the garden! outside. I don’t want the old girl to be hanging about us, patting us on the back and watching for every kiss.”
“No, no,” she whispered, as she clung to him, as if fearing to lose him before she had him fast. “Except for this, Rob, dear, I wish we had not come back to The Warren.”
“Hallo!” he cried, boisterously; “jealous of Judy, pet? Why, I haven’t seen her for months? That’s all over, and I’m going to be your own good boy.”
“It wasn’t that, Rob. I was afraid.”
“What of? Losing me? Oh, you’re safe now,” he cried, with a boisterous laugh.
“No, dear Rob; it was not that, but of something else.”
“What, Brackley?” he said roughly, and with an angry scowl.
“Oh, no, Rob,” she cried, with a frightened look and a shudder as she covered his lips with hers. “Don’t, pray, speak of that. It is too horrible. I didn’t mean that.”
“What then?”
“It was nothing about you, Rob, dearest. It was about myself. I was frightened, but no, not now,” she whispered caressingly, as she nestled to him. “I shall always have your brave, strong, giant’s arms to be round me, to protect me against everybody.”