She ran behind him, flung her soft arms round his neck, and pressed a kiss against his cheek just above his whiskers.
"That won't do," he said. "I won't take yer for that—I must have it on my lips."
She gave him a shy peck something like a robin. He caught her suddenly in his arms, squeezed her to his heart, and kissed her over and over again.
"I love thee more than words can say," he cried. "I am mad to get your love in return. Will the day ever come, Het?"
"I don't know, George; I'd like to say so to please you, but I can't tell a lie about a thing like that."
"To be sure, you can't," he said, rising as he spoke. "You'd soon be found out."
"I'd like well to love you," she continued, "for you're good to me; but now I must be off to see Aunt Fanny."
Vincent left the kitchen, and Hetty hurried to her room to dress herself trimly. Ten minutes later she was on her way to the village.
The pretty little place already wore a festive air. Bunting had been hung across the streets, flags were flying gayly from many upper windows. The shop-keepers stood at their doors chatting to one another; several of them nodded to Hetty as she passed by.
"That you, Hetty Vincent?" called out one woman. "You've heard the news, I guess."