“What can have become of them all?” questioned Eve, gazing wonderingly around. “I thought they were only just behind me—I heard them laughing a few minutes ago. Have they sunk into the earth, or are they hiding behind the bushes?”
“Neither. They are only going round the other side of the hill. They will meet us on the top.”
“It’s very silly of them,” said Eve, obviously distressed. “There is always some folly or mischief when Hetty is one of our party. Peggy is ever so much more sensible.”
“Don’t blame poor Hetty till you are assured she is in fault. I shouldn’t wonder if it were all Tivett’s doing. You must scold good little Tivett. I hope you don’t mind being alone with me for a quarter of an hour. I have been longing for the chance of a little serious talk with you. Shall we sit down for a few minutes on this fine old beech trunk? You are out of breath after mounting the hill.”
She was out of breath, but the hill was not the cause. Her colour came and went, her heart beat furiously. She was speechless with conflicting emotions—fear, joy, wonder, self-abasement.
They were on the ridge of the hill. In front of them, far away towards the south stretched the Sussex Downs, purple in the distance, save for one pale shimmering streak of light which meant the sea. Below them lay the Sussex Weald, rippling meadows, and the vivid green of spacious fields where the young corn showed emerald bright in the sun—pools and winding streamlets, copses and grey fallows, cottage roofs and village spires, a world lovely enough for Satan to use as a lure for the tempted.
But for Vansittart that world hardly existed. He had eyes, thoughts, comprehension for nothing but this girl who sat mutely at his side, the graceful throat bending a little, the shy violet eyes looking at the ground.
So far there had been no word of love between them, not one word, not one silent indication, such as the tender pressure of hands, or even the looks that tell love’s story. But love was in the air they breathed, love held them and bound them each to each, and each knew the other’s secret.
“Miss Marchant,” begun Vansittart with ceremonious gravity, “will you forgive me if I ask you a few questions which may seem somewhat impertinent on my part?”
This was so different from what her trembling heart had expected that she paled as at a sudden danger. He was watching her intently, and was quick to perceive that pallor.