We walked to the summer-house, where she read Heriot's letter through. 'But he is a boy! How old is Heriot? He is not so old as I am!'
These were her words, and she read the letter anew, and read it again after she had placed it in her bosom, I meanwhile pouring out praises of Heriot.
'You speak of him as if you were in love with him, Richmond,' she said.
'And I do love him,' I answered.
'Not with me?' she asked.
'Yes, I do love you too, if you will not make him angry.'
'But do you know what it is he wants of me?'
I guessed: 'Yes; he wants you to let him sit close to you for half an hour.'
She said that he sat very near her in church.
'Ah,' said I, 'but he mustn't interrupt the sermon.'