Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/298

290 “Well—it’s no good—the grass is wet—Good-night—Good-night, Emily.”

“Good-night,” he said, with regret, and hesitation, and a trifle of impatience in his voice and his manner. He lingered still a moment; she hesitated—then she struck off sharply.

“He has not asked her, the idiot!” I said to myself.

“Really,” she said bitterly, when we were going up the garden path, “You think rather quiet folks have a lot in them, but it’s only stupidity—they are mostly fools.”