"Very beautiful," said Sir Richard.
"But you are not looking," said Emily, severely.
"I can always see the sky." This was bold. He waited to see the effect.
"Yes, but it isn't always that colour," said Emily, glancing heavenward. For an Angel, it may be, she was a shade subtle.
"Would you be angry if I said something?" said the Mortal.
"How can I tell?" she murmured.
"Do you think I would willingly make you angry?"
" I am sure you wouldn't—willingly. And, in any case, I shouldn't feel anger. I might be hurt, or vexed, or," she smiled at him with beguiling sweetness, "simply amused."
"It might amuse you, for instance, if I made a fool of myself." Enamoured man is alternately the lover and the turkey-cock.
"Well," said Emily, "after all, you need not make a fool of yourself. You are not obliged to amuse me that way, are you?"
"I don't know," he said, impetuously. "I don't know. I only know one thing just at present." He caught her hand. (A country road has its advantages.)
"Only one thing, Emily!"
"Oh! … That's a stupid thing to know. Forget it!"
"Never."
"Please forget it."
"Never! never!"
"But there are other women—much nicer than I am—better worth loving—who would love you."
