When the glorious musical bell rang out far on the other side of the wood, dimmed by distance, Viola came reluctantly to the table.

“How delicious this is! this being in the country just at first.  Look at the table with its jonquils! isn’t it pretty?  Look at the honey and cream!”

“I think you had better eat some of it,” I answered; “or at least pour out the coffee.”

Viola laughed and did so, and we breakfasted joyously, full of the curious gayety that belongs to novelty alone.

Then we went out, and the outside was equally entrancing.  The scent of the lilac seemed to hang like a canopy in the air under which we walked.  There was a fat thrush on the lawn, young and tailless.  The sight of him and the dappled marks on his white breast gave me a strange pleasure.

We sat down on the turf finally where the cherry-tree cast a light shade, a sort of white shadow in the sunlight, from its blossoms.  Viola thrust her hands down into the cool, green grass.

“How lovely this is,” she said, looking up the tall tree above us.  “Look at its great tent of white blossoms against the blue sky; it’s like a picture of Japan!”

After a time, when we were tired of the garden, we went out and turned down the white road to explore the country.

It was very hot, and the glare from the road excessive, but as it was all new to us it all seemed delightful, even to the white dust that coated our lips and got into our eyes whenever the breeze stirred.

After about a mile and a half of walking we came to an oak wood.  The road dipped suddenly between cool, green, mossy banks and lay in deep, grateful shade from the arching oaks above.  I climbed the bank on one side and looked into the wood.  It was very thick and wild, apparently rarely penetrated.  Through the close-growing stems of the undergrowth I saw a bluebell carpet lying like inverted sky beneath the oaks.

“The wood looks very attractive,” I said as I rejoined Viola; “but we can’t stay to go into it now.  We haven’t the time; it’s half past twelve already.”

“I’m sorry,” said Viola, looking wistfully at the green wood.  “This is the nicest part; but I suppose we can’t disappoint that woman by not getting back to luncheon.”

So we walked back slowly through the noonday sun, admiring the double pink May peeping out from the green hedges.

When we came in just before lunch, she took the easy chair facing the window, and I sat down on one opposite and watched her.  She was wearing a white cambric dress that looked very simple and girlish; she was smiling, and her face was delicately rose-coloured after the walk.

A sense of responsibility came over me.  She was my cousin, my own blood relation.  I must protect her, must think for her if she would not think for herself.

“You know it’s risky being down here like this.  You had much better come to some rustic church with me in another village and marry me there.”