“Would a thirsty man be willing to accept a cooling draught?” said Despard, eagerly. “You open heaven before me, and ask me if I will enter.”
His voice trembled, and he paused.
“You never forget yourself,” said Mrs. Thornton, with slight agitation, looking away as she spoke.
“I will be back at any hour you say.”
“You will do no such thing. Since you are here you must remain and dine, and then go with me. Do you suppose I would trust you? Why, if I let you go, you might keep me waiting a whole hour.”
“Well, if your will is not law to me what is? Speak, and your servant obeys. To stay will only add to my happiness.”
“Then let me make you happy by forcing you to stay.”
Despard’s face showed his feelings, and to judge by its expression his language had not been extravagant.
The afternoon passed quietly. Dinner was served up. Thornton came in, and greeted Despard with his usual abstraction, leaving his wife to do the agreeable. After dinner, as usual, he prepared for a nap, and Despard and Mrs. Thornton started for the fête.
It was to be in some gardens at the other end of Holby, along the shore. The townspeople had recently formed a park there, and this was one of the preliminaries to its formal inauguration. The trees were hung with innumerable lamps of varied colors. There were bands of music, and triumphal arches, and gay festoons, and wreaths of flowers, and every thing that is usual at such a time.