The next week was quite endurable as to length: Cecil copied verses into the eldest Miss Temple’s album, and held some green silk for the younger to wind.
The Saturday following his introduction it was a beautiful moonlight evening, and Miss Temple was walking up and down the lawn; she really looked very well, and Cecil was about to join her, when a light step, close beside him, announced her sister.
" 'The moon is bright on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave.’
Even as Love forgot the lover, I have forgot the poet—not a line more can I remember; but I would wager the purse whose green silk I am knitting, and which you helped me to wind, against its weight in green grass, that those very lines are in Mary's head at this minute."
"Why those lines especially?"
"Oh, dear! now, cannot you guess?—why, every body knows!"
"But as I am not every body, I shall not know till you tell me."
"Oh, but really I shan't tell you!"
"Oh, but really you must!"
"To be sure, there is not a neighbour but is aware that she is engaged to such an interesting young man now in Greece. But, dear, dear! you
