And Lizzie said nothing; she only looked up in his face. And their lips met in one long thrilling kiss.
Of course it was the old or new story all over again. Rehearse it, Damon; fight the love-strife over again, Phyllis, and you have the scene complete.
They were in the conservatory all the time; and it was curious how after Pringle came in what a tremendous lot of gardening Lizzie had to do, and how she could not move the pots about, or exercise her little trowel without Tom’s help. Shortly afterwards she darted off up-stairs somehow with a very flushed face. Stooping always does send the colour to one’s head, you know. And then Tom told Lizzie’s brother all about it.
“I’m awfully glad, old fellow,” said Herbert Pringle, B.A.—“I am awfully glad, old fellow. Nothing could have pleased me better. I thought you were rather spoony on Lizzie, you know, all along, and I was expecting something like this.”
And they shook hands together in mutual congratulation. Tom thought Lizzie’s brother a very fine, good-natured, clever fellow indeed!
“By-the-way,” said Pringle, after a pause, “have you asked your mother about this?”
Tom looked rather glum; he thought Lizzie’s brother a little like the stern parent now.
“Not yet,” he answered. “I am going up to tell her now; but it’ll be all right, you know.”
“I am very glad to hear it, for I would not let you and Lizzie enter into any engagement without her consent. It would not be right, as she’s placed me here in her parish, you know.”
Herbert Pringle had very serious thoughts on the subject of etiquette, and rather doubted the dowager’s consent being obtained, from all he had heard of her from the campaigner, and knew of her himself.