"Your presence here now stamps you as--as horribly deceitful!" "Undoubtedly," I nodded; "but you see when I was foolish enough to give that promise your very excellent Aunt made no reference to her intentions regarding a certain Mr. Selwyn." "Oh!" exclaimed Lisbeth. And feeling that I had made a point, I continued with redoubled ardour: "She gave me to understand that she merely wished you to have time to know your own heart in the matter. Now, as I said before, how long will it take you to find out, Lisbeth?" She sat chin in hand staring straight before her, and her black brows were still drawn together in a frown. But I watched her mouth--just where the scarlet underlip curved up to meet its fellow. Lisbeth's mouth is a trifle wide, perhaps, and rather full-lipped, and somewhere at one corner--I can never be quite certain of its exact location, because its appearance is, as a rule, so very meteoric--but somewhere there is a dimple. Now, if ever there was an arrant traitor in this world it is that dimple; for let her expression be ever so guileless, let her wistful eyes be raised with a look of tears in their blue depths, despite herself that dimple will spring into life and undo it all in a moment. So it was now, even as I watched it quivered round her lips, and feeling herself betrayed, the frown vanished altogether and she smiled. "And now, Dick, suppose you give me my--my--" "Conditionally," I said, sitting down beside her. The sun had set, and from somewhere among the purple shadows of the wood the rich, deep notes of a blackbird came to us, with pauses now and then, filled in with the rustle of leaves and the distant lowing of cows. "Not far from the village of Down in Kent," I began dreamily, "there stands an old house with quaint, high-gabled roofs and twisted Tudor chimneys! Many years ago it was the home of fair ladies and gallant gentlemen, but its glory is long past. And yet, Lisbeth, when I think of it at such an hour as this, and with you beside me, I begin to wonder if we could not manage between us to bring back the old order of things." Lisbeth was silent. "It has a wonderful old-fashioned rose garden, and you are fond of roses, Lisbeth." "Yes," she murmured; "I'm very fond of roses." "They would be in full bloom now," I suggested. There was another pause, during which the blackbird performed three or four difficult arias with astonishing ease and precision. "Aunt Agatha is fond of roses, too!" said Lisbeth at last very gravely. "Poor, dear Aunt, I wonder what she would say if she could see us now?" "Such things are better left to the imagination," I answered. "I ought to write and tell her," murmured Lisbeth. "But you won't do that, of course?" "No, I won't do that if--" "Well?" "If you will give me--them." "One," I demurred. "Both!" "On one condition then--just once, Lisbeth?"