Then these lovers talked of distant days—compared their feelings on this and that occasion with mutual wonder and delight. Then the old hours lived anew. And—did you really think that, Evan? And—Oh, Rose! was that your dream? And the meaning of that by-gone look: was it what they fancied? And such and such a tone of voice; would it bear the wished interpretation? Thus does Love avenge himself on the unsatisfactory Past and call out its essence.
Could Evan do less than adore her? She knew all, and she loved him! Since he was too shy to allude more than once to his letter, it was natural that he should not ask her how she came to know, and how much the “all” that she knew comprised. In his letter he had told all; the condition of his parents, and his own. Honestly, now, what with his dazzled state of mind, his deep inward happiness, and love’s endless delusions, he abstained from touching the subject further. Honestly, therefore, as far as a lover can be honest.
So they toyed, and then Rose, setting her fingers loose, whispered: “Are you ready?” And Evan nodded; and Rose, to make him think light of the matter in hand, laughed: “Pluck not quite up yet?”
“Quite, my Rose!” said Evan, and they walked to the house, not quite knowing what they were going to do.
On the steps they met Drummond with Mrs. Evremonde. Little imagining how heart and heart the two had grown, and that Evan would understand him, Drummond called to Rose playfully: “Time’s up.”
“Is it?” Rose answered, and to Mrs. Evremonde
“Give Drummond a walk. Poor Drummond is going silly.”
Evan looked into his eyes calmly as he passed.
“Where are you going, Rose?” said Mrs. Evremonde.
“Going to give my maid Polly a whipping for losing a letter she ought to have delivered to me last night,” said Rose, in a loud voice, looking at Drummond. “And then going to Mama. Pleasure first—duty after. Isn’t that the proverb, Drummond?”