‘Yes, it was a pleasant time,’ she returned thoughtfully. ‘How the rain came down, and formed a gauze between us and the dancers, did it not; and how afraid we were—at least I was—lest anybody should discover us there, and how quickly I ran in after the rain was over!’
‘Yes’, said Somerset, ‘I remember it. But no harm came of it to you.... And perhaps no good will come of it to me.’
‘Do not be premature in your conclusions, sir,’ she said archly. ‘If you really do feel for me only half what you say, we shall—you will make good come of it—in some way or other.’
‘Dear Paula—now I believe you, and can bear anything.’
‘Then we will say no more; because, as you recollect, we agreed not to go too far. No expostulations, for we are going to be practical young people; besides, I won’t listen if you utter them. I simply echo your words, and say I, too, believe you. Now I must go. Have faith in me, and don’t magnify trifles light as air.’
‘I THINK I understand you. And if I do, it will make a great difference in my conduct. You will have no cause to complain.’
‘Then you must not understand me so much as to make much difference; for your conduct as my architect is perfect. But I must not linger longer, though I wished you to know this news from my very own lips.’
‘Bless you for it! When do you leave?’
‘The day after to-morrow.’
‘So early? Does your uncle guess anything? Do you wish him to be told just yet?’