Book I
16. Chapter XVI.
(continued)
Ah, no, he did not want May to have that kind of
innocence, the innocence that seals the mind against
imagination and the heart against experience!
"I verily believe," Mrs. Welland continued, "that if
the horrible business had come out in the newspapers it
would have been my husband's death-blow. I don't
know any of the details; I only ask not to, as I told
poor Ellen when she tried to talk to me about it.
Having an invalid to care for, I have to keep my mind
bright and happy. But Mr. Welland was terribly upset;
he had a slight temperature every morning while we
were waiting to hear what had been decided. It was the
horror of his girl's learning that such things were
possible--but of course, dear Newland, you felt that
too. We all knew that you were thinking of May."
"I'm always thinking of May," the young man
rejoined, rising to cut short the conversation.
He had meant to seize the opportunity of his private
talk with Mrs. Welland to urge her to advance the date
of his marriage. But he could think of no arguments
that would move her, and with a sense of relief he saw
Mr. Welland and May driving up to the door.
His only hope was to plead again with May, and on
the day before his departure he walked with her to the
ruinous garden of the Spanish Mission. The background
lent itself to allusions to European scenes; and May,
who was looking her loveliest under a wide-brimmed
hat that cast a shadow of mystery over her too-clear
eyes, kindled into eagerness as he spoke of Granada
and the Alhambra.
"We might be seeing it all this spring--even the
Easter ceremonies at Seville," he urged, exaggerating
his demands in the hope of a larger concession.
"Easter in Seville? And it will be Lent next week!"
she laughed.
"Why shouldn't we be married in Lent?" he
rejoined; but she looked so shocked that he saw his
mistake.
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