'What if Blanche sees it?' was the timid reflection of Mary; thus, mentally, these two were at cross-purposes. 'Do restore to me or cast away that bunch of berries,' she again said to him.
'I cannot think of it; but I shall conceal it, if you will permit me,' said he, as he kissed her little bouquet, and placed it in his breast-pocket.
His tenderness seemed very true, but might be—nay, Mary thought, must be—mere flirtation. He had said, 'Ere long I shall get another to plead for me.' Who was that other; and to plead for what?
It was all very mysterious, and for a moment or two Mary felt as one in a dream. Under the old trees where they lingered were cool and grateful shadows, and on the soft breeze from the gardens and shrubberies came the perfume of roses and heliotrope, with the drowsy hum of modulated voices and the music of the band.
'Listen,' said he, touching her hand lightly, while his features brightened; 'do you hear the sweet low air?'
'It is "The Birks of Invermay."'
'How it brings the words of the sweet song back to me—
"It wasna till the pale moonshine
Was glancing deep in Mary's e'e;
That with a smile she said 'I'm thine,'
And ever true to thee will be!"
You see how it and the name have impressed me.'
'Don't, please, Captain Colville,' said Mary, withdrawing her hand; 'you should not go on this way. It is not honourable in you, and is annoying to me.'