He. "Then you don't dislike me?"
She. "Oh dear, no! why should I?"
He. "And if you don't dislike me, you must like me?"
She. "Yes—at least—yes, I suppose so."
At this stage of the proceedings, the arm that Mr. Verdant Green had passed behind Miss Patty thrilled with such a peculiar sensation that his hand slipped down the bough, and the arm consequently came against Miss Patty's waist, where it rested. The necessity for saying something, the wish to make that something the something that was bursting his heart and brain, and the dread of letting it escape his lips—these three varied and mingled sensations so distracted poor Mr. Verdant Green's mind, that he was no more conscious of what he was giving utterance to than if he had been talking in a dream. But there was Miss Patty by his side—a very tangible and delightful reality—playing (somewhat nervously) with those rebellious strings of her hat, which loosely hung in her hand, while the dappled shadows flickered on the waving masses of her rich brown hair,—so something must be said; and, if it should lead to the something, why, so much the better.
Returning, therefore, to the subject of like and dislike, Mr. Verdant Green managed to say, in a choking, faltering tone, "I wonder how much you like me—very much?"
She. "Oh, I couldn't tell—how should I? What strange questions you ask! You saved my life; so, of course, I am very, very grateful; and I hope I shall always be your friend."
He. "Yes, I hope so indeed—always—and something more. Do you hope the same?"
She. "What do you mean? Hadn't we better go back to the house?"
He. "Not just yet—it's so cool here—at least, not cool exactly, but hot—pleasanter, that is—much pleasanter here. You said so, you know, a little while since. Don't mind me; I always feel hot when—when I'm out of doors."
She. "Then we'd better go indoors."
He. "Pray don't—not yet—do stop a little longer."
And the hand that had been on the bough of the tree, timidly seized Miss Patty's arm, and then naturally, but very gently, fell upon her waist. A thrill shot through Mr. Verdant Green, like an electric flash, and, after traversing from his head to his heels, probably passed out safely at his boots—for it did him no harm, but, on the contrary, made him feel all the better.
"But," said the young lady, as she felt the hand upon her waist—not that she was really displeased at the proceeding, but
