Ah yes; not one smallest part of your sweet
friendship will I take from him, nor of his from you. For, Isabel,
though he were as weak as I"--
"As weak as _I_, you should say, dear. You are not weak, Arthur,
are you?"
"Weak as the bending grass, Isabel, under this load of love. But though
he, I say, were as weak as I, you--ah, you!--are as wise as you are
bewitching; and if I should speak to you from my most craven fear, I
could find but one word of warning."
"Oh, you dear, blind flatterer! And what word would that be?"
"That you are most bewitching when you are wisest."
As Isabel softly laughed she cast a dreaming glance behind, and noticed
that she and Arthur were quite hidden in the flowery undergrowth of the
hill path. They kissed.
"Beloved," said her worshipper, with a clouded smile, as he let her down
from her tiptoes, "do you know you took that as though you were thinking
of something else?"
"Did I? Oh, I didn't mean to."
Such a reply only darkened the cloud. "Of whom were you thinking,
Isabel?"
She blushed. "I was think--thinking--why, I was--I--I was
think--thinking"--she went redder and redder as he went pale--"thinking
of everybody on Bylow Hill. Why--why, dear heart, don't you see? When
you"--
"Oh, enough, enough, my angel! I take the question back!"
"You _made_ me think of everybody, Arthur, you were so sudden.
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