Her lips were trembling as she gave me that sweet assurance—dearer to me—far dearer than all else I remember of that golden time—and tears were coursing down her cheeks. For myself I was in a worse plight of emotion. I dare say she remembered also the look of my face in that moment.
'Do not speak of it again,' she said, as we walked away together on the shorn sod of the orchard meadow, now sown with apple blossoms, 'until we are older, and, if you never speak again, I shall know you—you do not love me any longer.'
The dinner horn sounded. We turned and walked slowly back
'Do I look all right?' she asked, turning her face to me and smiling sweetly.
'All right,' I said. 'Nobody would know that anyone loved you—except for your beauty and that one tear track on your cheek.'
She wiped it away as she laughed.
'Mother knows anyway,' she said, 'and she has given me good advice. Wait!' she added, stopping and turning to me. 'Your eyes are wet!'
I felt for my handkerchief.
'Take mine,' she said.
Elder Whitmarsh was at the house and they were all sitting down to dinner as we came in.