She walked beside him, looking very pretty, in a black hat with long white plume and little white veil.

They had walked on without speaking until her foolish heart was fluttering, and she could stand it no longer.

She stopped short in the woodland aisle, through which the pale March sunshine sifted, and looked up at him for the first time.
"Where are we going ?" she asked.
"For a walk," replied Mr.Stanford, "and a talk.

You are not afraid, I hope ?" "Afraid ?" said Rose, the colour flushing her face.

"Of what should I be afraid ?" "Of me!" "And why should I be afraid of you ?" "Perhaps because I may make love to you?
Are you ?" "No." "Come on, then." He offered his arm, and Rose put her gloved fingers gingerly in his coat-sleeve, her heart fluttering more than ever.
"You are going to be married," he said, "and I have had no opportunity of offering my congratulations.