They turned into a by-road and he drew the bridle over his arm, walking beside her.
There was a shade of embarrassment in his mind; he knew that his chance of seeing and speaking to her was not likely to occur again, and he had so much to say. There were a thousand things he had settled as he came along, and which he must discuss with her. He had rushed over to Crishowell, not only as a sort of protest against his father’s attitude, but because he knew that he would not be allowed to see Isoline were the Vicar to be prepared for his coming. He wanted to tell her more about his legacy too, though, to his unsuspicious heart, money seemed a sordid thing to talk about to her. And there was something of vital importance, something which he meant to propose. He feared to begin. It was simply providential that he had met her.
“I suppose,” he began, “that they would not let you see me if I were to come to the house. I have so much to say. Isoline, I want to ask you something. Could you make a sacrifice, do you think? Dearest, I don’t know where to start. I must tell you heaps of things, horrid things, some of them.”
She looked up quickly.
“My father is in a dreadful rage. I asked him again to-day, just now, to give in. He will not.”
“Yes, but you need not mind him now,” broke in the girl.
“No, that’s it. That is what made him so furious.”
“But you are not thinking of giving me up?” she said suddenly. “Oh, Harry! you never mean that!”
“Give you up? Now, when, at last, I can do as I please? Not likely. Isoline, I believe you are joking.”
“I never joke,” said she, with much truth.