“Suppose we go in now?” said she, dryly.

“Ah, not yet.”

“It is late, dear Edouard.”

And with these words something returned to her mind with its full force:  something that Edouard had actually made her forget.  She wanted to get rid of him now.

“Edouard,” said she, “can you get up early in the morning?  If you can, meet me here to-morrow before any of them are up; then we can talk without interruption.”

Edouard was delighted.

“Eight o’clock?”

“Sooner if you like.  Mamma bade me come and read to her in her room to-night.  She will be waiting for me.  Is it not tiresome?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, we must not mind that, dear; in three weeks’ time we are to have too much of one another, you know, instead of too little.”

“Too much!  I shall never have enough of you.  I shall hate the night which will rob me of the sight of you for so many hours in the twenty-four.”

“If you can’t see me, perhaps you may hear me; my tongue runs by night as well as by day.”

“Well, that is a comfort,” said Edouard, gravely.  “Yes, little quizzer, I would rather hear you scold than an angel sing.  Judge, then, what music it is when you say you love me!”

“I love you, Edouard.”

Edouard kissed her hand warmly, and then looked irresolutely at her face.

“No, no!” said she, laughing and blushing.  “How rude you are.  Next time we meet.”

“That is a bargain.  But I won’t go till you say you love me again.

“Edouard, don’t be silly.  I am ashamed of saying the same thing so often—­I won’t say it any more.  What is the use?  You know I love you.  There, I have said it:  how stupid!”

“Adieu, then, my wife that is to be.”

“Adieu! dear Edouard.”

“My hus—­go on—­my hus—­”

“My huswife that shall be.”

Then they walked very slowly towards the house, and once more Rose left quizzing, and was all tenderness.

“Will you not come in, and bid them ’good-night’?”

“No, my own; I am in heaven.  Common faces—­common voices would bring me down to earth.  Let me be alone;—­your sweet words ringing in my ear.  I will dilute you with nothing meaner than the stars.  See how bright they shine in heaven; but not so bright as you shine in my heart.”

“Dear Edouard, you flatter me, you spoil me.  Alas! why am I not more worthy of your love?”

“More worthy!  How can that be?”

Rose sighed.

“But I will atone for all.  I will make you a better—­(here she substituted a full stop for a substantive)—­than you expect.  You will see else.”

She lingered at the door:  a proof that if Edouard, at that particular moment, had seized another kiss, there would have been no very violent opposition or offence.

But he was not so impudent as some.  He had been told to wait till the next meeting for that.  He prayed Heaven to bless her, and so the affianced lovers parted for the night.