"Yet how dare I--" began Laurie.
Again she glanced at him, terrified lest that which was in her heart
should declare itself too plainly by eyes and lips; and she saw how he
still looked across the garden, yet seeing nothing but his own thought
written there against the glory of sky and leaf and grass. His face
caught the splendor from the east, and she saw in it the lines that
would tell always of the anguish through which he was come; and again
the terror in her heart leapt to the other side, in spite of her
confidence, and bade her fear lest through some mistake, some
conventional shame, he should say no more.
Then he turned his troubled eyes and looked her in the face, and as he
looked the trouble cleared.
"Why--Maggie!" he said.
_Epilogue_
"The worst of it all is," said Maggie, four months later, to a very
patient female friend who adored her, and was her _confidante_ just
then--"the worst of it is that I'm not in the least sure of what it is
that I believe even now."
"Tell me, dear," said the girl.
* * * * *
The two were sitting out in a delightfully contrived retreat cut out
at the lower end of the double hedge.
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