"I hope so—but it'll take her a mighty long time learning to love me,
I think," sighed Diana. "Lord, what furious fuss she'll make when she
finds out we'm married. Not as I shall care—if you don't, dear. Why,
Peregrine—yonder's Wyvelstoke Towers!"
"Yes," said I, "it is there we are going."
"But why—what for?"
"Dear, have patience—just a little longer," I pleaded.
At this she was silent, but her hand tightened on my arm, and I was aware of the sudden trouble in her eyes. So, having crossed the park, we came into the pleasaunce, a place of clipped yew hedges and trim walks. And here who should meet us but the sedate Atkinson, who, having saluted us gravely, led the way to a rustic arbour where sat his lordship engaged upon the perusal of a book. At sight of us, he rose to welcome us with his wistful, kindly smile.
"Ah, Peregrine," said he, viewing us with his keen gaze as we sat beside him, "I perceive you have not told her."
"Not a word, sir," said I, a little hoarsely.
"Old pal," she questioned, glancing from me to his lordship and back again, "what d'ye mean? Peregrine, what is it?"
"Diana," said I, finding my tongue very unready, "dear—what is your greatest wish—what is your most passionate desire?"
"You!" she answered in her sweet, direct fashion.