And then, with a thump of the heart,
"Most people do not think she is pretty, but I--" quite desperately--"I
DO." His mood had become rash.
"So do I," Betty Vanderpoel answered.
Then the others joined them, and Miss Vanderpoel paused to talk a
little--and when they went on she was with Mary and Nigel Anstruthers,
and he was with Jane, walking slowly, and somehow the others melted
away, turning in a perfectly natural manner into a side path. Their own
slow pace became slower. In fact, in a few moments, they were standing
quite still between the green walls. Jane turned a little aside, and
picked off some small leaves, nervously. He saw the muslin on her chest
lift quiveringly.
"Oh, little Jane!" he said in a big, shaky whisper. The following eyes
incontinently brimmed over. Some shining drops fell on the softness of
the blue muslin.
"Oh, Tommy," giving up, "it's no use--talking at all."
"You mustn't think--you mustn't think--ANYTHING," he falteringly
commanded, drawing nearer, because it was impossible not to do it.
What he really meant, though he did not know how decorously to say it,
was that she must not think that he could be moved by any tall beauty,
towards the splendour of whose possessions his revered grandmother might
be driving him.
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