"Don't!" The word was sharp as a pistol shot. Esther's tears were suddenly stayed. Furtively she slipped the hand he had touched behind her. With the other she felt for her handkerchief and frankly wiped her eyes.
"You startled me," she explained presently. "And I am so sorry, so very sorry! I never dreamed that you thought of me at all—in that way, any more than I have thought of you. You honour me very much. But it is impossible. Quite, quite impossible."
"You mean my position here, as minister? Believe me, I have thought of all that. There may be difficulties but we will conquer them together. Nothing is impossible if you love me, dear."
"Oh!" She turned wide blue eyes upon him. "That is just it. I do not love you."
The blow fell swift, unerring, dealt by the mercilessly honest hand of youth. Esther's eyes were quite dry now. Her nervousness was passing. Regret and pity were merged in one overpowering, instinctive desire: the desire to show him beyond all manner of doubt that she repudiated that possessive touch upon her hand. "I could not ever possibly marry you," she said, as calmly as if she had been accustomed to dismissing suitors all her life.
They were still standing by the rose-bush whose desperate fate it was to produce pink roses. With incredulous dismay, the minister saw her turn from him and take a step toward the house.
She had refused him! She was leaving him! At any moment Annabel might finish her Sunday School lesson and come out upon the lawn—all his self-possession vanished like a puff of smoke.
"Esther!" he cried, "Esther! wait. Give me a moment."
She paused, but did not turn.
"I think there is nothing more to say—I am very sorry."