He
took her masterfully in his arms.
"That was bravado," he said, kissing her. "You love
me! And I may be a
poor stick, but I'm worth a good many Cliffes. Defy me--and I'll write
you a better poem, too!"
The color leaped afresh in Kitty's cheek. She pushed him away, and,
holding him, perused his handsome, scornful face, and all the manly
strength of form and attitude. Her own lids wavered.
"What a silly scene!" she said, and fell--a little, soft, yielding
form--into his arms.
XV
The church clock of Haggart village had just struck half-past six. A
white, sunny mist enwrapped the park and garden. Voices and shouts rang
through the mist; little could yet be seen, but the lawns and the park
seemed to be pervaded with bustle and preparation, and every now and
then as the mist drifted groups of workmen could be distinguished,
marquees emerged, flags floated, and carts laden with benches and
trestle-tables rumbled slowly over the roads and tracks of the park.
The house itself was full of gardeners, arranging banks of magnificent
flowers in the hall and drawing-rooms, and superintended by the head
gardener, a person of much greater dignity than Ashe himself, who swore
at any underling making a noise, as though the slumbers of the "quality"
in the big house overhead and the danger of disturbing them were the
dearest interests of a burdened life.
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