He started and blushed when he saw how negligent he had been, and almost stumbled over her chair in his anxiety to retrieve his carelessness.
Poor Edward was too much abstracted in his thoughts and in her, and with the confusion of a little crisis of sentiment, to think of the usual attentions of society which he owed to her. Incledon, who had been watching his opportunity so long, now came forward with a cup of tea. “I shall always remember them, though you will not allow of any romance”. “There are the lights still,” he said, standing over her where she had seated herself near the window. To think of that filled his heart with a soft, unspeakable pang and yet the very pain had a sweetness in it, and sense of exaltation. He heard himself saying the words, and wondered how it was that he himself was so entirely happy and sad, and thought how he might perhaps soon say them to himself as his ship rustled through the water, and the moonlight slept broad and level and uninterrupted by any poetry of shadows upon the sea. All that they said, and a great deal more, came into young Wodehouse’s charmed heart and stole it away. “On such a night” lovers once prattled in Shakespeare’s sweetest vein.
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The bright lights in the rectory drawing-room dazzled them both-the windows were wide open crowds of moths were flickering in and out, dashing themselves, poor suicides, against the circle of light and all the charmed dimness grew more magical as the sky deepened into night, and the moon rose higher and began to throw long shadows across the lawn. He followed her into the hum of friendly talk, and then across the lawn to the house, where the neighbors streamed in for tea. As for the young man, he had a great longing to say something more, but a feeling which was mingled of reverence for her youth and dread of frightening her by a premature declaration kept him silent. She did not understand the flutter, but somehow felt it right to fly from it, tripping back to the serenity of society on the lawn.
Rose’s heart fluttered a little-a very little-with the softest preliminary sensations of mingled happiness and alarm. Imagination will play many a trick with me before I forget it,” said young Wodehouse in subdued tones.
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