Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Slipshod; follow me. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand.
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