We have it
all to ourselves, Emily."
Her name, spoken with so much ease, without a sign of
self-consciousness, startled her. Her inquiring glance showed her that
he was utterly unaware that he had spoken it. Her breath came quickly.
The birds sang and the stream sang, and suddenly her heart began to
sing.
You see it had been so many years since Emily had known
romance;--indeed, she had never known it--there had always been, in her
mother's time, her sense of the proper thing, and her sense of duty,
and her sense of making the best of things--and now for the first time
in her life there was no make-believe. This was a world of realities,
with Ulrich leading the way, his hands gathering flowers for her.
He stopped at last at the entrance of a sort of grotto where great
ferns towered--at their feet was a bed of white violets.
"You see," he said, "I could not bring it. I came here this morning to
pick the violets--for you--to let them say, 'I love you'--"
Even the birds seemed silent, and the little stream!
"And suddenly they spoke to me, 'Let her see us here, where you have so
often thought of her.
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