"Well, now," said Ellis, "I want to have a picture of Corwen."
"Yes, to-morrow, in the field, and me standing by her. I will put on
my new gaiters."
"The young lady has gone to ask your master's consent."
"The master!" said Shoni, locking the barn door; "pooh! 'sno need to
ask him. You kom to-morrow and make a picksher on Corwen and me.
Wherr you stop?"
"At Brynderyn."
"With the Vicare du? Oh, jâr i!" said Shoni, taking off his hat to
scratch his head, "there's a pity now. Essec Powell will nevare be
willing for that; but nevare you mind, you kom. Here's Valmai."
Cardo was nowhere to be seen.
"I asked my uncle, sir," she said, "but I am sorry to say when he heard
you were the Vicar's friend he was not willing, but he did not say no."
"Twt, twt," said Shoni, interrupting, "you wass no need to ask Essec
Powell. The gentleman is kom to-morrow to make a picksher on Corwen
and me."
Valmai could not resist a smile at Shoni's English, which broke the ice
between her and Gwynne Ellis; and as Shoni disappeared round the corner
of the barn, she gave him her hand, frankly saying: "Good-bye, Mr. Ellis; I must go in to tea."
"Good-bye," he said, "I will venture to bring my paints to-morrow to
Corwen's field. And you--you will keep your promise to come and make
the daisy chain?"
"Well, indeed, I can't promise, but I will try, whatever."
"And then you will honour me by looking over my portfolio."
"And the Vicar objects to that girl," he exclaimed to himself, as he
proceeded down the path to the shore. "What a sweet, sensitive mouth!
Oh, Cardo, Cardo Wynne, I can only say, as I said before, you are a
lucky dog!"
He had wondered what had become of Cardo, but with his full
appreciation of a secret love-affair, had had too much tact to ask
Valmai, and was not much surprised to find him lying at full length on
the sandy beach.
"Well, Wynne," he said, pretending to sulk a little, "you did leave
me in the lurch."
"Leave you in the lurch! my dear fellow, do forgive me. To tell the
truth I forgot all about you until Valmai went indoors to find her
uncle. I waited to see if she would come out again, but she never did.
I believe she was waiting until I had gone; she's dreadfully chary of
her company."
"Another charm," said Ellis; "one would get tired of an angel who was
always en evidence. She is an ideal girl. Tell me when you are
going to retire, old fellow, and then I will try my luck. That sweet
mouth, though the delight of a lover, is the despair of an artist."