Bridget sank down upon one of the great roots across the path. She could not trust herself to reply. An awful fear possessed her that if he spoke to her again she should burst into tears. She was fighting desperately, despairingly, for self-control.
There was silence. Carey watched the sunlight strike along the shining ivy leaves that trailed towards the edge of the path. The words of an exquisite spring song came involuntarily to his mind as he looked at them:—
“Now on some twisted ivy-net,
Now by some twinkling rivulet.”
How did it end?
“A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly worth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips.”
He turned to her abruptly. “I’ve made up my mind to go abroad again,” he said. “I start in a week or two.”