Tom Pynsent could not command his feelings; he caught her in his arms, and saluted her with a kiss, which might have been distinctly heard in the hall.
"I like a girl who speaks her mind without affectation and nonsense, and there's a good fox-hunting kiss from your husband, if you will make me so, and we will ride together in spite of the devil."
Miss Wetheral's astonishment at the action, and her happiness at her lover's subsequent speech, prevented all reply; but she gave him her hand at once, though her face was covered with blushes. Tom Pynsent squeezed the little white hand with rapture, and her open dealing made a taciturn lover garrulous with approval.
"You do let me squeeze your hand, and you do not pretend to be offended because a man tells you he loves you! Who would have thought you were such an open-hearted, dear creature, without a bit of nonsense? Now, give me your other hand—there's a dear, beautiful girl as you are, and we may ride now to the world's end together. Perhaps, when we are married, you will ride with me to see the hounds throw off. I shall only hunt then three times a week. Lady Wetheral frightened me properly, when she forbid my riding with you; however, I shall stay here to-day, and we can talk over things. You will walk with me, my dear girl, won't you?"
"I am in a labyrinth, I really am bewildered, Mr. Pynsent," replied Miss Wetheral, timidly. "Do not fancy me silly, but I really am bewildered, and hardly know what to say."
"You have said enough, quite enough," cried Tom Pynsent, squeezing her poor hands into his enormous palms. "You have accepted me, and I shan't allow you to leave me; I shall follow you like a dog till we are married: a little walk will be the very thing to refresh you. Let us walk in the park, and look at the Wrekin, and talk of our wedding-day."
Miss Wetheral mechanically obeyed her lover's request; and they were deeply absorbed in conversation, pacing up and down the avenue, when the party drove home from Shrewsbury.
"Mrs. Primrose has succeeded tolerably well, Sir John," observed Lady Wetheral, in the interim between Tom Pynsent's departure and the lighting of the chamber-candles—"Mrs. Primrose has caught Mr. Thornhill, in despite of your alarms." This was whispered to reach Sir John's ear only.
Lady Ennismore had something very obliging to say, and whenever she spoke, her flattering compliments soothed the ear of her object—she only framed sentences of compliment.