“What are they?”
“Sometimes I write verse,” he answered, blushing shyly.
“I suppose it’s ridiculous, but it gives me great happiness; and who knows?—someday I may do something that the world will not willingly let die.”
Later on, when Bella rested on a stile and Herbert stood by her side, he looked up at her, hesitating.
“I want to say something to you, Miss Langton, but I’m rather afraid. . . . You won’t drop me now, will you? Now that I’ve found a friend, I can’t afford to lose her. You don’t know what it means to me having someone to talk to, someone who’s kind to me. Often I feel dreadfully alone. And you make all the difference in my life; this last week everything has seemed changed.”
She looked at him earnestly. Did he think he made no difference in hers? She could not tell what stirred her when those blue appealing eyes asked so irresistibly for what she was most willing to give.
“My father is going into Leanham on Wednesday,” she answered presently. “When your work is over, will you come and have tea in the Deanery garden?”
She felt herself ten times rewarded by the look of pleasure that flashed across his face.
“I shall think of nothing else till then.”
And Miss Langton found that her restless anxiety had strangely vanished; life now was no longer monotonous, but sparkled with magic colour, for an absorbing interest had arisen which made the daily round a pleasure rather than a duty. She repeated to herself all the charming inconsequent things the boy had said, finding his conversation agreeably different from the clerical debates to which she was used. They cultivated a refined taste in the chapter, and the Archdeacon’s second wife had written a novel, which only her exalted station and an obvious moral purpose saved from excessive indecency. The Minor Canons talked with gusto of the Royal Academy. But Herbert spoke of books and pictures as though art were a living thing, needful as bread and water to his existence; and Bella, feeling that her culture, somewhat ostentatiously pursued as an element of polite breeding, was very formal and insipid, listened with complete humility to his simple ardour.