"Yes, I love the fresh air. I think if any one asked me what I loved
best on earth, I should say wind. I love it in all its moods--rough,
caressing, tender, impetuous, calm, stormy. It is always beautiful.
Listen to it now, just sighing in the branches of those tall trees.
Could any music be sweeter or softer?"
"No," he replied, and then added, "The time and the scene embolden me,
Philippa; there is something that I wish to say to you--something that I
long have wished to say. Will you hear it now?"
A tremor like that of the leaves in the wind seemed to pass over her.
There was a startled expression in the dark eyes, a quiver of the
crimson lips. Was it coming at last--this for which she had longed all
her life? She controlled all outward signs of emotion and turned to him
quite calmly.
"I am always ready to listen to you, Norman, and to hear what you have
to say."
"You see, Philippa, the starlight makes me bold. If we were in that
brilliantly-lighted drawing-room of yours, I should probably hesitate
long before speaking plainly, as I am going to do now."
He saw her clasp her hands tightly, but he had no key to what was
passing in her mind.
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