He fetched it, and turned the pages.
"What part do you fancy?"
"Anywhere, so long as I can see you while you read."
He stooped and kissed me, and holding one of my hands in his he began.
Very little of the beautiful language did I hear, for I was thinking and pondering upon what I should say to him later. How should I tell him? How break my news? The shock would be so great; I must choose my words carefully. "Help me to say the right thing," I prayed I know not to whom. "Help me to choose the right words, and let him go on loving me."
*****
And Dimbie himself made it all quite easy for me, for before I spoke or told him his own words rolled a great load from my heart.
We had finished supper, the darkness had fallen, and a moon swam in a sky of the deepest blue. Heavy on the warm night air lay the perfume of the roses, the night-scented stock, and the flowering lime, in which a thousand and one bees had been humming throughout the day. Now they were asleep, and the lime was at rest.
Dimbie, with his arm around me, was telling me of Aunt Letitia's death, and how glad she was to go; how quietly and simply she had talked of her business affairs, of the disposal of her money, of her legacies. She had left her house in order, and with the faith of a little child had set out on the long, unknown journey fearless and with a great trust in the mercy of God.
"At the last she said to me, 'From what you have told me I quite seem to know Marguerite, and I should have loved her I am sure. I feel she is good. Some good women are very unlovable; they are hard on the frailties of others. In their unsmirched purity they cannot understand the meaning of the words temptation, sin; but I do not think Marguerite is one of these. I should imagine she would be very tender towards those who are weak, for she understands and knows the mercy of God.'"