re
like fruit, much more enjoyable when you pick them with your own hands."

So saying, this accomplished gooseberry skips round the corner, leaving
Monica and Mr. Desmond _tete-a-tete_.

That they enjoy their sudden isolation just at first is questionable:
Monica discovers blots on the perfect horizon; and Mr. Desmond, after a
full minute's pause, says, reproachfully,--

"You didn't _really_ mean that, did you?"

"Mean what?" uncompromisingly, and without changing position.

"That even if matters had been quite--quite comfortable with us, you
would not have gone to meet me at the river?"

"I don't know," in a low tone.

"_Say_ you didn't mean it."

"I--suppose I didn't," even lower.

"Look at me, then," says Mr. Desmond.

Kit, in her high, sweet voice, is warbling that little, pretty thing
about a "lover and his lass," in the next field. The words of her song,
and its silly refrain of

"A hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,"

come to them across the corn and scented meadow. Monica, with her hand
in his, smiles faintly.

"You hear what she sings,--'that life is but a flower:' is it wise,
then, to set your heart upon----"

"You?"

"I meant, an impossibility."

"Which you are _not_. You shall not be. I don't believe in
impossibilities, to begin with; and, even if it were so, I should still
prefer to be unwise."

"You are defiant," she says, lightly; but her smile is still very sad.

"I have hope. 'Affection's ground is beyond time, place, and all
mortality,' as we read. I shall conquer yet; yes, even _your_
prejudices. In the mean time, give me fair play; do not harden your
heart against me."

"I wish mine was the only hard heart you had to contend against,"
returns she, with a faint sigh. But this remark seems to drop so
carelessly from her lips that, though elated by it, he is afraid to take
any open notice of it.

"I hope your aunts were not cross to you last evening on my account?" he
says, anxiously.

"No. Nothing was said, more than Kit told you, except that Aunt
Priscilla touched upon the point of introduction. Oh, what a fright I
got then! If she had persisted in her inquiries, what _would_ have
become of me?"

"Couldn't you have----" began Mr. Desmond, and then stops abruptly. A
glance at the face uplifted to his checks his half-uttered speech
effectually, and renders him, besides, thoroughly ashamed of himself.

"If I had to confess there had been _no_ introduction," goes on Moni