she replied; “it would be cruel to leave him.”
“But Mary, dear Mary, you do not dislike me!” cried the little doctor. “I’m not much to look at I know; not a very gallant youth, my dear!”
“I think you are one of the best of men! You make me very proud to think that – that you could – could – ”
“And you have owned to liking me, my dear?” he whispered. “Say yea. Arthur would soon get used to your absence; and of course, before long we should come back.”
“No,” she said firmly, “it could not be!”
“Not be!” he said in a tone of so much misery that little Miss Rosebury added:
“Not for me to go out there. We must wait.”
“Wait!”
“Yes; a few years soon pass away, and you will return.”
“But we – I mean – I am getting so precious old,” said the doctor dismally.
“Yes, we should be much older, Henry,” said the little lady sweetly, as she held out her hand; “but surely our esteem would never fade.”
“Never!” he cried, kissing her hand again; and then he laid that hand upon his arm, and they went out into the garden, where the little lady’s eyes soon made out the Reverend Arthur bending over his choicest flowers, to pick the finest blossoms for a bouquet ready for Helen Perowne to carelessly throw aside.
Satisfied that her brother was in no imminent danger with Grey Stuart present, little Miss Rosebury made no opposition to a walk round; the doctor thinking that perhaps, now the ice was broken, he might manage to prevail.
“How beautiful the garden is!” said the little lady, to turn the conversation.
“Beautiful, yes! but, my dear madam,” exclaimed the doctor, in didactic tones, “a garden in Malaya, where I ask you to go – the jungle gorgeous with flowers – the silver river sparkling in the eternal sunshine – the green of the ever-verdant woods – the mountains lifting – ”
“Thank you, doctor,” said the little lady, “that is very pretty; but when I was a young girl they took me to see the ‘Lady of Lyons,’ and I remember that a certain mock prince describes his home to the lady something in that way – a palace lifting to eternal summer – and lo! as they say in the old classic stories, it was only a gardener’s cottage after all!”
The matter-of-fact little body had got over her emotion, and this remark completely extinguished the doctor for the time.
Volume One – Chapter Ten.
Miss Rosebury Speaks Seriously
The next day, when the visitors had been driven back by the Reverend Arthur, his sister met him upon the step, and taking his arm, led him down the garden to the vine-house.
“Let us go in here, Arthur,” she said. “It is such a good place to talk in; there is no fear of being overheard.”
“Yes, it is a quiet retired place,” he said thoughtfully.
“I hope you were careful in driving, and had no accident, Arthur?”
“N-no; I had no accident, only I drove one wheel a little up the bank in Sandrock Lane.”
“How was that? You surely did not try to pass another carriage in that narrow part?”
“N-no,” hesitated the Reverend Arthur. “Let me see, how was it? Oh, I remember. Miss Perowne had made some remark to me, and I was thinking of my answer.”
“And nearly upset them,” cried Miss Rosebury. “Oh! Arthur – Arthur, you grow more rapt and dreamy every day; What is coming to you I want to know?”
The Reverend Arthur started guiltily, and gazed at his sister.
“Oh! Arthur,” she cried, shaking a warning finger at him, “you are neglecting your garden and your natural history pursuits to try and make yourself a cavalier of dames, and it will not do. There – there, I won’t scold you; but I am beginning to think that it will be a very good thing when our visitors have gone for good.”
The Reverend Arthur sighed, and half turned away to snip off two or three tendrils from a vine-shoot above his head.
“I want to talk to you very seriously, Arthur,” said the little lady, whose cheeks began to flush slightly with excitement; and she felt relieved as she saw her brother turn a little more away.
“I want to talk to you very seriously indeed,” said Miss Rosebury.
“I am listening,” he said hoarsely; but she did not notice it in her excitement.
There was a minute’s pause, during which the Rev. Arthur broke off the young vine-shoot by accident, and then stood trying to replace it again.
At last Miss Rosebury spoke.
“Arthur,” she said – and her brother started and seemed to shiver, though she saw it not – “Arthur, Henry Bolter has asked me to be his wife!”
The Reverend Arthur turned round now in his astonishment, with his face deadly white and the tiny beads of perspiration upon his forehead. “Asked you to be his wife?” he said. “Yes, dear.”
“I am astonished,” cried the Reverend Arthur. “No, I am not,” he added thoughtfully. “He seemed to like you very much, Mary.”
“And I like him very much, Arthur, for I think him a truly good, amiable, earnest man.”
“He is my dear Mary – he is indeed; but – but – ”
“But what, Arthur? Were you going to say that you could not spare me?”
“I – I hardly know what I was about to say, Mary, you took me so by surprise. It would be very strange, though, to be here without you.”
“And you will not be, Arthur. I felt that I must tell you. I have nothing that I keep from you; but I have refused him.”
“You have refused him,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, I felt that it would not be right to let a comparative stranger come in here and break up at once our happy little home. No, Arthur, this must all be like some dream. You and I, dear brother, are fast growing into elderly people; and love such as that is the luxury of the young.”
“Love such as that,” said the Reverend Arthur, softly, “is the luxury of the young!”
“Yes, dear brother, it would be folly in me to give way to such feelings!”
“Do you like Harry?” he exclaimed, suddenly.
“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I have felt day by day, Arthur, that I liked him more and more. It was and is a wonder to me at my age; but I should not be honest if I did not own that I liked him.”
“It is very strange, Mary,” said the curate, softly.
“Yes, it is very strange,” she said; “and as I think of it all, I am obliged to own to myself, that after all I should have liked to be
