He bethought himself then that he had never received from her a word of encouragement, and that such word, if ever to be spoken, should be forthcoming that night.

What might not happen to a girl who was passing the balmy Christmas months amid the sweet shadows of an Italian lake?
Harry's ideas of an Italian lake were, in truth, at present somewhat vague.

But future months were, to his thinking, interminable; the present moment only was his own.

The dance was now finished.

"Come and take a walk," said Harry.
"I think I will go to mamma." Florence had seen her mother's eye fixed upon her.
"Oh, come, that won't do at all," said Harry, who had already got her hand within his arm.