“And if I hadn’t?”
“Well, I should have waited. . . . Don’t be horrid. Look at the sunshine calling us. Yesterday we had the gray stones of the cathedral; to-day we’ve got the green fields and the trees. Don’t you feel the west wind murmuring delicious things?”
Bella looked at him, and could not resist the passionate appeal of his eyes.
“I suppose I must do as you choose,” she answered.
And together they set off. Miss Langton, convinced that her interest was no less maternal than when she gave jellies to some motherless child, knew not that Dan Cupid, laughing at her subterfuge, danced gleefully about them and shot his silver arrows. They sauntered by a gentle stream that ran northward to the sea, shaded by leafy willows; and the country on that July afternoon was fresh and scented: the cut hay, drying, gave out an exquisite perfume, and the birds were hushed.
“I’m glad you live in the Deanery,” he said; “I shall like to think of you seated in that beautiful garden.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“No; but I can imagine what it is like behind that old wall, the shady lawns and the roses. There must be masses of roses now.”
The Dean was known as an enthusiast for that royal flower, and his blossoms at the local show were the wonder of the town. They went on, and soon, half unconsciously, as though he sought protection from the hard world, Herbert put his arm in hers, Bella blushed a little, but had not the heart to withdraw; she was strangely flattered at the confidence he showed. Very discreetly she questioned him, and with perfect simplicity he told of his parents’ long struggle to give him an education above their state.
“But, after all,” he said “I’m not nearly so wretched as I thought I would be. The bank leaves me plenty of time, and I have my books and I have my hopes.”