For, instead of giving her back her rose, he threw himself upon her hand, and had kissed it before she could catch it away.
She bit her lip, frowning, smiling.
"Then will you keep your promise?" she asked severely.
"If you insist upon it, I suppose I 'll have to," he grudgingly consented. "But a journey!" he sighed. "Ah, well. Where to?"
Her eyes gleamed, maliciously.
"To a very pleasant place," she said. "The journey is a pious pilgrimage."
"Craford, just now, is the only pleasant place on the face of the earth," vowed he. "A pious pilgrimage? Where to?"
He had, I think, some vague notion that she might mean a pilgrimage to the Holy Well of St. Winefride in Wales; though, for that matter, why not to the Holy Well of St. Govor in Kensington Gardens?
"A pious pilgrimage to the home of your ancestors," said Susanna. "The journey is a journey to the little, unknown, beautiful island of Sampaolo."
Her eyes gleamed, maliciously, exultantly.