“He is going to make arrangements about you; I quite understand,” said the lieutenant.
It was there and then he made up his mind. If he did not seize the present opportunity, Florence, beautiful Florence would be snatched from him. Some one else, perhaps some horrid City magnate with lots of money, would come forward and win the darling girl. It could not, it must not be.
They had finished their lunch and the lieutenant had paid for it, gallantly giving a substantial tip to the red-elbowed girl who had waited on them. They then left the cottage and went slowly along by the river side.
The river was very full just now and made a babbling sound. The snow and cold of Christmas had given place to milder weather. There was quite a spring-like feel in the air, and the lieutenant felt more in love than ever.
“Florence,” he said suddenly, “do you remember what I said to you on Christmas night?”
“You said a great many things to me then,” she answered, somewhat flippantly; “I cannot remember them all.”
“But there was one very special thing, and I think I said it several times.”
“Oh, now I remember,” she said colouring, and a different expression came into her face. Her eyes grew large and dark and were turned upon him with a certain solemnity, with a look as though she would read him through.
“Tell me, tell me with your own lips what I said,” was his answer. He trembled as he spoke; he was feeling desperately in love.
“You said,” answered Florence, “that you wished I was as poor as a church mouse in order that you could show me what—what you would do for me.”