"Did he say that?" They paused in their walk.
"Yes; and he meant it—he means it now, if he could but say as much."
"I thank you for telling me * * * Let us sit down here on this rustic seat. Do you know, I believe your father has gotten over his first dislike for me."
"O, yes, he has. I think he likes you very much."
"I was not surprised at his actions when I told him I was a 'Mormon.' He can hardly be blamed, in view of the life-long training he has had. And then, knowing that you have been in danger from that source before made him over-sensitive on the point. I marvel now that he treats me so well."
Lucy looked her happiness, rather than expressed it. The guide book lay open on her lap. Chester picked it up, looked at a picture of Blarney Castle, and then read aloud:
"'There's gravel walk there,
For speculation,
And conversation
In sweet solitude.
'Tis there the lover
May hear the dove, or
The gentle plover
In the afternoon.'
"Lucy," said Chester, as he closed the book, "I'm going to call you Lucy—I can't call you Miss Strong in such a lovely place as this. We have an hour or two before we must return, and I want to talk over a few matters while we have the chance. In the first place, I want you to tell me where you are going when you leave Ireland. I want to keep track of you—I don't want to lose you. If your father would not object, I should like to travel along with you."
"Father may remain here a long time, so long that we may not get to see much of Europe, and of course, you can't wait here for us."
"Now listen, Lucy. You are Europe to me. I believe you are the whole world."