I could not help reflecting that I had not gained much by not going to church. “It is true,” I thought, “that she knows I love her; but her answers were very unsatisfactory.” Was she in love with somebody else? Was his vulgar name Curling? Why hadn’t I asked her? and supposing I had? would she have told me the truth?
Just as I got to the conservatory, I, to my infinite amazement, saw her coming out from among the trees—those trees within whose gloom her figure had faded, on the clock striking seven.
“I thought you were on the lawn, smoking?” she exclaimed. She pronounced the word smoking, “thmoking.” Heavens! how I loved that one lisp! And I fancied she blushed, but it was almost too dark to see clearly.
“And I thought you were in your bed-room,” I replied, with the proper severity of a suspicious wretch.
“Then we were both wrong,” she said, laughing.
“What is the particular attraction of those trees?” I asked, looking hard at her.
“That’s my secret,” she answered, with a little rebellious toss of the head.
“You found the air chilly just now. I don’t feel that it has grown warmer since you left me,” said I, holding my hand out and looking upwards, like a man in search of rain.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she exclaimed, in a rather tremulous voice. “I suppose I may go into the grounds without any insinuations being made.”
“Insinuations!” I cried. “Heaven forbid! Who insinuates? I have been waiting for you on the lawn, and wishing for you to join me; but as you had left the grounds because you said you felt chilly, I was surprised to find you in them again.”