"Oh, I will be discretion itself," said Compton; but the warmth with
which he kissed his mother gave her some doubts. However, she was
prepared to risk something. She had her own views in this matter.
When he had got this limited permission, Master Compton was not much
nearer the mark; for he was not to call on the young lady, and she did
not often walk in the village.
But he often thought of her, her loving, sprightly ways seven years
ago, and the blaze of beauty with which she had returned.
At last, one Sunday afternoon, she came to church alone. When the
congregation dispersed, he followed her, and came up with her, but his
heart beat violently.
"Miss Bassett!" said he, timidly.
She stopped, and turned her eyes on him; he blushed up to the temples.
She blushed too, but not quite so much.
"I am afraid you don't remember me," said the boy, sadly.
"Yes, I do, sir," said Ruperta, shyly.
"How you are grown!"
"Yes, sir."
"You are taller than I am, and more beautiful than ever."
No answer, but a blush.
"You are not angry with me for speaking to you?"
"No, sir."
"I wouldn't offend you."
"I am not offended. Only--"
"Oh, Miss Bassett, of course I know you will never be--we shall never
be--like we used."
A very deep blush, and dead silence.
Pages:
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492