But my lady was leaning upon the old stile, and fresh from the sighful confidences of shy Ann in the little kitchen and the Corporal’s halting disparagement of the age forty-five in the little garden, was thinking only of him for whom she waited, of herself and the future; thus when hearing his step she glanced up, Sir John saw that in her look which stirred him to such joyous wonder that he yearned to clasp and kiss her then and there; but she, aware of this, drew back, so truly shy and off her guard for once that she quite forgot to act. So he turned and took the little, old man by the shoulders instead.
“O Mr. Dumbrell!” quoth he rapturously; the old man snorted. “Aged Soul!” Mr. Dumbrell scowled. “Friend Hosea!” The old man stared. “To-day my respect of thee mounteth high as heaven ... thou’rt a far better wooer than I dreamed! So shall sit in comfort all thy days henceforth. And so good-night, my ancient Hosea, thou honoured, Aged Soul—good-night!”
Then Sir John vaulted the stile, aided my lady over, and side by side they set out for Alfriston through a peaceful countryside glorious with sunset. Forgotten now the sinister rustling of hedges and all else under heaven save the sweet, shy droop of her lashes so new in his experience of her, for here no longer was prideful coquetry full of modish affectations, but rather the Rose-child of his dreams, and what else could matter so long as her hand lay thus within his arm and her foot trod with his the velvet ling.
“Rose,” said he, halting suddenly, “a while ago love looked at me from thine eyes.... O child, come, kiss me!” And then his arm was about her; but, though very conscious of the tender yearning of his voice, and even while yielding to the mastery of his arm, she laughed a little unsteadily.
“Indeed, John, the Aged Soul did plead thy cause so irresistibly ... it seems thou canst neither eat nor sleep ... he told me thy—thy ‘innards be arl shook to pieces with love’ ... he urged the woes o’ thy poor stomach so passionately that I looked to see him weep....”
“Hum!” quoth Sir John; and then: “Rose, when will you marry me?”
“This depends on how long you intend playing the part of John Derwent, sir.”
“And this again, Rose, depends on how soon my Lady Herminia will marry Sir John Dering.”
“Nay, first, John, she is determined on wedding my Aunt Lucinda to your friend, Sir Hector.”
“’S life, and is she so, child?” he exclaimed a little ruefully. “’Faith, ’tis like the contrary Herminia, for here is plaguy difficult problem.”