How beautiful she looked! He delighted to watch every movement of the deft fingers, to study every expression of the beautiful eyes and mobile mouth. He revelled in her beauty, because to him she was the personification of all that was lovely and noble and great. Her character he would have loved just as much had she been plain instead of beautiful, for his ideal was the inward, not the outward beauty, except as the two blended into one, as they did with her.
"You seem to be partial to the oak, Miss Hall. Is there any reason for it?"
"Yes, I am. It is a grand symbol of strength and firmness of character," she replied, still sketching rapidly. "I like to paint trees, for they express so much. Some show such kindly benevolence, with their broad, spreading branches and friendly shade, some are so graceful, with their tall trunks and delicately veined leaves, as though showing a fine, tender nature; while others are stunted and rough, with coarse, thick foliage. I place each one as to character and station, and they teach me many beautiful lessons."
"And they will teach me many after this, Miss Grace."
He wanted to say something more, but she was so innocently unconscious of anything but her work that he must wait for a better opportunity.
Having finished her sketch, Grace looked up. The self-consciousness that had scarcely left her, save these past few moments, now returned with painful suddenness. Her eyes met his, and a vivid flush overspread her face, but she said nothing.
"Shall we go?" he asked, holding out his hand to assist her. His eyes expressed the question his lips could not frame, but she did not see them. They went to the carriage in silence.
The road presently left the woods and turned into a broad country lane. Both had forgotten the proposed trip to "The Glen," but it made no difference. At last the undercurrent of feeling had burst through all reserves.
Mr. Carrington awaited the final answer, and what did she say?
It was the sacred page in a maiden's life that is read but once.