“I was saying to myself, Lizzie, that you were sure to come, though you were late.”
“I had to linger through the village as if I had no object before me, and I had to speak to several people in passing along, Mr. Wrayburn.”
“Are the lads of the village—and the ladies—such scandalmongers?” he asked, as he took her hand and drew it through his arm.
She submitted to walk slowly on, with downcast eyes. He put her hand to his lips, and she quietly drew it away.
“Will you walk beside me, Mr. Wrayburn, and not touch me?” For, his arm was already stealing round her waist.
She stopped again, and gave him an earnest supplicating look. “Well, Lizzie, well!” said he, in an easy way though ill at ease with himself “don’t be unhappy, don’t be reproachful.”
“I cannot help being unhappy, but I do not mean to be reproachful. Mr. Wrayburn, I implore you to go away from this neighbourhood, tomorrow morning.”
“Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie!” he remonstrated. “As well be reproachful as wholly unreasonable. I can’t go away.”
“Why not?”
“Faith!” said Eugene in his airily candid manner. “Because you won’t let me. Mind! I don’t mean to be reproachful either. I don’t complain that you design to keep me here. But you do it, you do it.”
“Will you walk beside me, and not touch me;” for, his arm was coming about her again; “while I speak to you very seriously, Mr. Wrayburn?”