But he only held it closer, and bent his lips over it, his manner gentle
but firm.
"Ay, it is true, Mysie; but I am so stupid I can't do anything of that
kind. I'm merely an ordinary sort of chap."
Mysie did not answer, and once again silence fell between them, broken
only occasionally by the cry of the birds or the bleating of a sheep.
"I believe I'm in love with you, Mysie," he said at last. "You've grown
very beautiful. Could you care for me, Mysie?" he asked, looking at her
in the soft moonlight, a smile on his lips, his voice keeping its
seductive wooing tone, and his eyes kindling.
Mysie's experience of life had been gleaned from the love stories of
earls and lords marrying governesses and ladies' maids after a swift and
very eventful courtship. Already she saw herself Peter's wife, her
carriage coming at her order, everyone serving her and she the queen of
all the district. Illiterate but romantic, she was swept off her feet at
the first touch of passion, and the flattery of being recognized!
She did not answer. She did not know what to say; and Peter stole his
arm about her waist, so tempting, so sweet to touch, and they passed
beneath the shadow of the trees as they entered the little wooded copse.
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