"Ah!" said Bellew, "and she reads him always in your fortune, does she?"
"And I listen very patiently," Anthea nodded, "because it pleases her so much, and it is all so very harmless, after all, isn't it?"
"Yes," answered Bellew, "and very wonderful!"
"Wonderful?—poor old Nannie's fancies!—What do you mean by wonderful?"
"Upon my word, I hardly know," said Bellew, shaking his head, "but 'there are more things in heaven, and earth,' etc., you know, and this is one of them."
"Really!—now you grow mysterious, Mr. Bellew."
"Like the night!" he answered, turning to aid her across the impertinent brook that chuckled at them, and laughed after them, as only such a very impertinent brook possibly could.
So, betimes, they reached the stile, and crossed it, this time without mishap, despite the lurking nail and, all too soon for Bellew, had traversed the orchard, and were come to the garden where the roses all hung so still upon their stems that they might have been asleep, and filling the air with the perfume of their dreams.
And here they paused, perhaps because of the witchery of the moon, perhaps to listen to the voice of the nightingale who sang on more gloriously than ever. Yet, though they stood so close together, their glances seldom met, and they were very silent. But at last, as though making up her mind, Anthea spoke:
"What did you mean when you said Old Nannie's dreams were so wonderful?" she asked.