“I wish I had known! I wouldn't have kept you waiting,” returned Richard. “I want the rest of the poem,” she said. “It was horrid to have Arthur interrupt us! He was abominably rude too.” “He certainly had no right to speak to me as he did. And if he had confessed himself wrong, or merely said he had made a mistake, I should have thought no more about it. I hope it is not true you are going to marry him, miss!--because--” “If I thought one of the family said so, I would sleep in the park to-night. I would not enter the house again. When I marry, it will be a gentleman; and Mr. Lestrange is not a gentleman--at least he did not behave like one to-day. Come, tell me the rest of the poem. We have plenty of time here.” The young bookbinder was perplexed. He had not much knowledge of the world, but he could not bear the thought of the servants learning that they were in the park together. At the same time he saw that he must not even hint at imprudence. Her will was not by him to be scanned! She must be allowed to know best! A single tone of hesitation would be an insult! He must take care of her without seeming to do so! If they walked gently, they would finish the poem as they came near the house: there he would leave her, and return by the lodge-gate. “Where did we leave off?” he said. His brief silence had seemed to Barbara but a moment spent in recalling. “We left off at the place where the bird fell from his neck--no, just after that, where he falls asleep, as well he might, after it was gone.”