'Is that all?' she answered, a trace of humour in her tone. 'I thought it was bad news.'
I stooped to pick a rose and handed it to her.
'Well,' she remarked soberly, but smiling a little, as she lifted the rose to her lips, 'is it anyone I know?'
I felt it was going badly with me, but caught a sudden inspiration.
'You have never seen her,' I said.
If she had suspected the truth I had turned the tables on her, and now she was guessing. A quick change came into her face, and, for a moment, it gave me confidence.
'Is she pretty?' she asked very seriously as she dropped the flower and looked down crushing it beneath her foot.
'She is very beautiful—it is you I love, Hope.'
A flood of colour came into her cheeks then, as she stood a moment looking down at the flower in silence.
'I shall keep your secret,' she said tenderly, and hesitating as she spoke, 'and when you are through college—and you are older—and I am older—and you love me as you do now—I hope—I shall love you, too—as—I do now.'