"Yes," she answered, stooping down to kiss him.
Anne promised to return at the right time, and Charlotte and Harold were alone. The boy, nestling close to her side, began to chatter confidentially.
"I'm so glad I came across you," he said; "you looked very dull when I came up, and it must be nice for you to have me to talk to, and 'tis very nice for me too, for I am fond of you."
"I am glad of that, Harold," said Charlotte.
"But I don't think you are quite such a pretty lady as you were," continued the boy, raising his eyes to her face and examining her critically. "Mr. Hinton and I used to think you were perfectly lovely! You were so bright—yes, bright is the word. Something like a dear pretty cherry, or like my little canary when he's singing his very, very best. But you ain't a bit like my canary to-day; you have no sing in you to-day; ain't you happy, my pretty lady?"
"I have had some trouble since I saw you last, Harold," said Charlotte.
"Dear, dear!" sighed Harold, "everybody seems to have lots of trouble. I wonder why. No; I don't think Mr. Hinton would think you pretty to-day. But," as a sudden thought and memory came over him—"I suppose you are married by this time? Aren't you married to my Mr. Hinton by this time?"
"No, dear," answered Charlotte.
"But why?" questioned the inquisitive boy.
"I am afraid I cannot tell you that, Harold."