less than open the gate for her; and as their ways must thence lie
together, up the long ilex-shaded avenue to the castle, it would be an
awkward affectation not to speak. And yet (he ground his teeth at having
to admit it) his heart had begun to pound so violently, (not from
emotion, he told himself,--from a mere ridiculous sort of nervous
excitement: what _was_ there in the woman that should excite a sane man
like that?) he was afraid to trust his voice, lest it should quaver and
betray him. But fortunately this pounding of the heart lasted only a few
seconds. The short business of getting the gate open, and of closing it
afterwards, gave it time to pass. So that now, as they set forwards
towards the house, he was able to look her in the eye, and to observe,
with impressiveness, that it was a fine day.

She had accepted his bow with a smile, amiable and unembarrassed; and at
this, in quite the most unembarrassed manner, smiling again,--perhaps
with just the faintest, just the gentlest shade of irony, and with just
the slightest quizzical upward tremor of the eyebrows,--"Isn't it a day
rather typical of the land and season?" she inquired.

It was the first step that had cost. John's assurance was coming swiftly
back. Her own air of perfect ease in the circumstances very likely
accelerated it. "Yes," he answered her. "But surely that isn't a reason
for begrudging it a word of praise?"

By this he was lucky enough to provoke a laugh, a little light gay
trill, sudden and brief like three notes on a flute.

"No," she admitted. "You are right. The day deserves the best we can say
of it."