"I'm sick of all this pious twaddle,
and would a thousand-fold rather listen to the music of your voice
out under the trees."
"You 'thank heaven'!" she repeated with a reckless laugh. "I'm
inclined to think, Mr. Sibley, from the nature of your words, you
named the wrong locality."
The answering look he gave her indicated that she puzzled him.
She had not seemed to-day like the shallow girl who had hitherto
accepted of his more innocent compliments as if they were sugar-plums,
and merely raised her finger in mock warning at such as contained
a spice of wickedness and boldness. There seemed a current of
thought in her mind which he could not fathom, and whether it were
carrying her away or toward him he was not sure. He understood and
welcomed the element of recklessness, but did not like the way in
which she looked at Van Berg, nor did it suit his purposes that
she should hear so much of what he characterized as "pious twaddle."
He whispered again bolder words than he had ever spoken to her
before.
"I wish no better heaven than the touch of your hand and the light
of your eyes. See, the moon is rising; come with me, for this is
the very witching hour for a ramble.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224