“Ah, Kenn, you think so now, but afterward, when you take up again your London life, and I cannot play the lady of fashion, when you weary of my simpleness and are wishing me back among the purple heather hills?”
“That will be never, unless I wish myself there with you. I am no London Mohawk like Volney. To tramp the heather after muircocks or to ride to hounds is more my fancy. The Macaronis and I came long since to the parting of the ways. I am for a snug home in the country with the woman I love.”
I stepped to the table, filled a glass with wine, and brought it to her.
“Come, love! We will drink together. How is it old Ben Jonson hath it?
| “‘Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth seek a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup I would not change from thine.’ |
She tasted, then I drained the glass and let it fall from my fingers to shiver on the floor.
Before we parted Aileen had one more word for me, “Kennie.”
“Yes, dear heart,” I cried, and was back at her side in a moment.
“What you said in the woods—I am knowing it all true. It is great foolishness, but my heart is singing the same song,” and with that she whipped the door to in my face.