On Wednesday, almost handsome in summer muslin and a large hat, she went into the garden, where the tea-things were laid under a leafy tree. Miss Ley would have smiled cruelly to notice the care with which the Dean’s daughter arranged her position to appear at her best. The privacy, the garden’s restful beauty, brought out all Herbert’s boyishness, and his pleasant laughter rang across the lawns, rang like silver music into Bella’s heart. Watching the shadows lengthen, they talked of Italy and Greece, of poets and of flowers; and presently, weary of seriousness, they talked sheer light-hearted nonsense.
“You know, I can’t call you Mr. Field,” said Bella, smiling. “I must call you Herbert.”
“If you do I shall call you Bella.”
“I’m not sure if you ought. You see, I’m almost an old fossil, and it’s quite natural that I should use your Christian name.”
“But I won’ t let you assume any airs of superiority over me, I want you to be absolutely a companion, and I don’t care twopence if you’re older than I am. Besides, I shall always think of you as Bella.”
She smiled again, looking at him with tender eyes.
“Well, I suppose you must do as you like,” she answered.
“Of course.”
Then quickly he took both her hands, and, before she realized what he was about, kissed them.
“Don’t be foolish,’ cried Bella, withdrawing them hurriedly, and she reddened to her very hair.