And on she strolled to her own tune, and came abreast of me without turning her head; so I crept in the shadow (my ugly weapon tucked out of sight), and she sauntered in the shine, until we came to the end of the garden, where the path turned at right angles, running behind the rhododendrons; once in their shelter, she halted and beckoned me, and next instant I had her hands in mine.
“At last!” was all that I could say for many a moment, as I stood there gazing into her dear eyes, no hero in my
of a somewhat stronger expression than quite became his cloth.
“Squire Rattray told me of it,” said I.
“Ha! So you’re a friend of his, are you?” And his eyes went through and through me like knitting-needles through a ball of wool.
“I could hardly call myself that,” said I. “But Mr. Rattray has been very kind to me.”