“Oh, so much, so very much—and, Lanty, you like me?”
“Like! Oh, Mabella, since that day in the hayfield when I knew, you can’t imagine what life has seemed to me since then—surely it is ages ago, and how I have thought of you! Dear, I can’t say all I mean—but you know—Mabella, you know, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“I hope so,” she said sweetly, and then, with the inconsequence of women, her eyes filled with tears.
“Lanty—you—you will be good to me?”
“May God treat me as I treat you,” said Lanty solemnly.
There was a pause, such a pause as when the sacramental wine dies upon the palate.
“I did not doubt you, Lanty.”
“No, sweet one,” he said; “I understand all about it. I will be good to you and take care of you, and, oh, my own dear girl, I am so happy.”
“And I——”