“Oh!” she said, and yielded herself to be kissed. Their lips touched, and for a moment he held her lithe body against his own.
“I want you,” he whispered close to her. “You are my mate. From the first sight of you I knew that....”
They embraced—alertly furtive.
Then they stood a little apart. Some one was coming towards them. Amanda's bearing changed swiftly. She put up her little face to his, confidently and intimately.
“Don't TELL any one,” she whispered eagerly shaking his arm to emphasize her words. “Don't tell any one—not yet. Not for a few days....”
She pushed him from her quickly as the shadowy form of Betty appeared in a little path between the artichokes and raspberry canes.
“Listening to the nightingales?” cried Betty.
“Yes, aren't they?” said Amanda inconsecutively.
“That's our very own nightingale!” cried Betty advancing. “Do you hear it, Mr. Benham? No, not that one. That is a quite inferior bird that performs in the vicarage trees....”
11