"You are a good child, after all," he said, "and you shall have jam with your tea."
"I think I have fooled that fellow to the top of his bent," was Anthony's silent self-gratulation.
His pulse beat high, as they walked across the park.
"How could I ever have contemplated waiting till Sunday?" he asked himself, in a maze.
Sunday, the day after the day after to-morrow, seemed, in his present eagerness, to belong to the dim distances of futurity.
And all the way, as they passed under the great trees, over the cool, close turf, with its powdering of daisies and buttercups and poppies, through alternations of warm sun and deep shadow, where sheep browsed, and little snow-white awkward lambkins sported, and birds piped, and the air was magical with the scent of the blossoming may,—all the way, amid the bright and dark green vistas of lawn and glade, the summer loveliness mixed with his anticipation of standing face to face with her, and rendered it more poignant.
"If cats were always kittens,
And rats were always mice,
And elderberries were younger berries,
Now would n't that be nice?"—
Adrian, walking beside him, trilled joyously.
"You seem in high spirits," Anthony remarked.
"I 've been thinking of your suggestion," said Adrian.