meetings had to be as unostentatious as possible. It was Beatrice who
insisted upon our meeting.

I am certain I knew quite a lot about love at fourteen and that I was
quite as much in love with Beatrice then as any impassioned adult could
be, and that Beatrice was, in her way, in love with me. It is part of
the decent and useful pretences of our world that children of the age at
which we were, think nothing, feel nothing, know nothing of love. It
is wonderful what people the English are for keeping up pretences. But
indeed I cannot avoid telling that Beatrice and I talked of love and
kissed and embraced one another.

I recall something of one talk under the overhanging bushes of the
shrubbery--I on the park side of the stone wall, and the lady of my
worship a little inelegantly astride thereon. Inelegantly do I say? you
should have seen the sweet imp as I remember her. Just her poise on the
wall comes suddenly clear before me, and behind her the light various
branches of the bushes of the shrubbery that my feet might not profane,
and far away and high behind her, dim and stately, the cornice of the
great facade of Bladesover rose against the dappled sky. Our talk must
have been serious and business-like, for we were discussing my social
position.

"I don't love Archie," she had said, apropos of nothing; and then in a
whisper, leaning forward with the hair about her face, "I love YOU!"

But she had been a little pressing to have it clear that I was not and
could not be a servant.

"You'll never be a servant--ever!"