“I want you to tell me something else,” he said. “I should like to hear your opinion about a friend of mine. A man I know very well.” His voice shook a little as he mentioned this. “He is desperately in love with a girl, but he has lost every penny of his money, and does not think it honourable to ask her to bind herself to him in any way, until his lot is more assured. Do you think if _she_ knew this, and supposing that she cared about him--she would trust in his silence, and wait, say, a year?” No answer for quite a long interval--for Betty could not find her voice. Suddenly she stood up and glanced at his pale, tense face. “Well--what do you think?” he asked in a low, eager tone. “I am sure she would.” “Would _you_, if you were she?” he enquired, and his voice shook. “Yes,” she responded, almost in a whisper. Betty looked at him, the veil was drawn between their two souls, and they knew each other’s hearts. To George, her eyes seemed to speak all that was sweetest and best in the world; he took the little hand that still held a rose, and removing the flower, kissed it reverently and fervently. What a cold, trembling little hand it was! How quickly it was withdrawn. For at this supreme moment, the inevitable Cuckoo came running to the gate and peering eagerly through, called: “Betty, where are you? Bet, come in, mother wants you immediately!” And Betty hastily snatched her fingers away, and turned to face Mrs. Malone’s untimely emissary--her future sister-in-law. George loved her past all doubting, truly; with this conviction in her heart, she moved to the gate which he held open. George loved her, that was enough. What was money--what was time, what was anything? She would wait for him for years--for ever. As she walked slowly back through the fragrant pleasure-grounds she seemed to be treading on air, although Cuckoo dragged from her arm, with an exceedingly earthly weight. Strange to say, that usually unguarded young lady made no remark beyond some incoherent suggestions about Boozle and his basket, but for the remainder of the evening she was amazingly silent--unnaturally solemn, and followed George with deeply inquisitive and interested eyes--Betty had returned to her packing. The scene inside the gate, embowered in roses, handsome George kissing Betty’s hand, and Betty standing so tall and white, like some young queen, was photographed on her memory for ever; she was a notoriously sharp young person, and the picture only ratified what she had long suspected, that George and Betty were in love with each other.