"Whenever you like," she whispered, her eyes downcast and her colour receding.
"In the Fall, then, when the grapes have been gathered and just before school begins?"
He could scarcely hear her murmured: "Yes."
"I want to take you to town and let you see things. Theatres, concerts, operas, parks, shops, art galleries, everything. If the crop is in early, we should be able to have two weeks. Do you think you could crowd all the lost opportunities of a lifetime into two weeks?"
"Into a day, with you."
He drew her closer. This sort of thing was very sweet to him, and the girl's dull personality had bloomed like some pale, delicate flower. He saw unfathomed depths in her grey eyes, shining now, with the indescribable light that comes from within. She had been negative and colourless, but now she was a lovely mystery—a half-blown windflower on some brown, bare hillside, where Life, in all its fulness, was yet to come.
What Will They Say?
"Did you tell your Grandmother and Aunt Matilda?"
"No. How could I?"
"You'd better not. They'd only make it hard for you, and I wouldn't be allowed in the parlour anyway."