The season had advanced into an early spring; the green was already abroad and the birds beginning to come, when one afternoon, that seemed to have strayed out of summer, so soft and balmy was the air, Nellie and I sat together out on the lawn as in the old days. My father was taking a nap within; the Goodals had driven to Gnaresbridge to meet a friend whom they expected to pass by the up-town train to London. Nellie was working at something, and I was musing in silence. Suddenly she said:
“Roger, do you remember the promises you made me the night before you ran away?”
“Yes, Fairy.”
“Well, sir?”
“Well, madam?”
“Is that all?”
“Is what all?”
“Do you only remember your promise?”
“Is not that a great deal?”
“No; unless you have kept it.”