“Oh! oh!”
“You might find her a far more suitable wife than ever I could make you, and might think her infinitely prettier.”
“I might become a king. I might take the moon out of the sky, and put it in my pocket. And I mightn’t.”
“At all events I am determined not to hear another word from you until you have seen her. You must be tried a little before I make up my mind. The old saying is, ‘no man can be considered honest until he has been tempted.’”
“If that is your opinion of me,” said I, “it is quite right that I should go to Thistlewood. I want to be tested. I only hope that I may find Theresa perfectly beautiful, and thoroughly womanly, and brilliantly clever, and superfine in every point, to prove that, compared to you, she will be no more to me than that bush.”
“Very well; and now, not another word until you come back. Give me your word.”
“All right,” I groaned. “But I wish you’d let me take away some little remembrance, some dear promise, some sweet word of hope, to comfort me in my absence.”
She laughed, blushed, turned pale, looked at me, shook her head, and exclaimed,
“No—it is too late; you have pledged your word, and you mustn’t ask me for a sign of any kind until you return from Thistlewood.”
And the evasive little creature, with her hair shining like spangles in the rays of the setting sun, danced a minuet across the lawn, and vanished within the house.