Hetty was blushing so, she didn’t know whether she was happy or miserable.  To be crying again—­what did gentlemen think of girls who cried in that way?  She felt unable even to say “no,” but could only look away from him and wipe the tears from her cheek.  Not before a great drop had fallen on her rose-coloured strings—­she knew that quite well.

“Come, be cheerful again.  Smile at me, and tell me what’s the matter.  Come, tell me.”

Hetty turned her head towards him, whispered, “I thought you wouldn’t come,” and slowly got courage to lift her eyes to him.  That look was too much:  he must have had eyes of Egyptian granite not to look too lovingly in return.

“You little frightened bird!  Little tearful rose!  Silly pet!  You won’t cry again, now I’m with you, will you?”

Ah, he doesn’t know in the least what he is saying.  This is not what he meant to say.  His arm is stealing round the waist again; it is tightening its clasp; he is bending his face nearer and nearer to the round cheek; his lips are meeting those pouting child-lips, and for a long moment time has vanished.  He may be a shepherd in Arcadia for aught he knows, he may be the first youth kissing the first maiden, he may be Eros himself, sipping the lips of Psyche—­it is all one.

There was no speaking for minutes after.  They walked along with beating hearts till they came within sight of the gate at the end of the wood.  Then they looked at each other, not quite as they had looked before, for in their eyes there was the memory of a kiss.

But already something bitter had begun to mingle itself with the fountain of sweets:  already Arthur was uncomfortable.  He took his arm from Hetty’s waist, and said, “Here we are, almost at the end of the Grove.  I wonder how late it is,” he added, pulling out his watch.  “Twenty minutes past eight—­but my watch is too fast.  However, I’d better not go any further now.  Trot along quickly with your little feet, and get home safely.  Good-bye.”

He took her hand, and looked at her half-sadly, half with a constrained smile.  Hetty’s eyes seemed to beseech him not to go away yet; but he patted her cheek and said “Good-bye” again.  She was obliged to turn away from him and go on.

As for Arthur, he rushed back through the wood, as if he wanted to put a wide space between himself and Hetty.  He would not go to the Hermitage again; he remembered how he had debated with himself there before dinner, and it had all come to nothing—­worse than nothing.  He walked right on into the Chase, glad to get out of the Grove, which surely was haunted by his evil genius.  Those beeches and smooth limes—­there was something enervating in the very sight of them; but the strong knotted old oaks had no bending languor in them—­the sight of them would give a man some energy.  Arthur lost himself among the narrow openings in the fern, winding about without seeking any issue, till the twilight deepened almost to night under the great boughs, and the hare looked black as it darted across his path.