“Yes,” pursued Brenda, “and you cried while you were in the passion.”
“I don’t know how to apologise,” said the somewhat discomfited lieutenant: “but I suppose boys will be boys.”
“And girls will be girls,” said Florence. “You would not pull my hair now, would you?”
He looked at her lovely hair, arranged in the most becoming fashion and yet so simply, and murmured something which she could not quite catch but which caused her ears to tingle, for she was quite unaccustomed to compliments except among her school-fellows, and they did not count.
After dinner, the pair found themselves alone for a few minutes. Then Reid drew a chair close to Florence’s side, and said—
“I wish with all my heart and soul that you were as poor as a church mouse, so that I might show you what a man’s devotion can do for a girl.”
Florence found herself turning pale—not at the latter part of his speech but at the beginning; for was she not quite as poor as a church mouse? in fact, poorer, for even the church mouse manages to exist; and she could not exist beyond quite a limited time on the small amount of money which the girls possessed between them.
By and by the dance began, and they did go out under the stars. Reid felt almost in love. He had always admired pretty Florence, and to-night she looked so charming—so young, so very girlish, and yet there was a certain stateliness about her. She was an unopened bud as yet, but full of rare promise. He thought of what she might be in a year—in two years. Other men would discover her charms. Oh, if only she would promise herself to him!
He did not dare to say too much that night; but while he was thinking about her, and she was looking up at the stars, and his chance of making that remark about her eyes was so very easy, she suddenly said something which put the whole idea out of his head.
“You have made a remarkable statement since we came here this evening, and I do just wonder if you meant it.”