"Yes, and lazy, like the donkeys on the Green, where you are going; but you don't want me particularly—I mean you, Charrie—and Mr. Sedley, I know, will excuse me, for I really feel that it would tire me to-day. It would tire me to death," said Agnes, winding up with an emphasis. "Well, I'll go and put on my things, and if you like to come you can come, and if you don't you can stay where you are. But I wish you would not be a fool. It is a beautiful day, and nothing on earth to prevent you." "I don't like the idea of a walk to-day. I know I should feel tired immediately, and have to bring you back again; and I've really grown interested in this little bit of work, and I feel as if I must finish it to-day." "Why need you finish it to-day? You are such a goose, Agnes," said Charity, marching out of the room. Tom remained there standing, his hat in his[Pg 43] hand, looking out of the window—longing to speak, his heart being full, yet not knowing how to begin, or how to go on if he had begun. [Pg 43] Agnes worked on diligently, and looked out from the window at her side over the shorn grass and flower-beds, through the old trees in the foreground—over the tops of the sloping forest, with the back-ground of the grand Welsh mountains, and a glimpse of the estuary, here and there, seen through the leaves, stretching far off, in dim gold and gray. "You like that particular window," said Tom, making a wonderful effort; "I mean, why do you like always to sit there?" He spoke in as careless a way as he could, looking still out of his window, which commanded a different view. "This window! oh, my frame stands here always, and when one is accustomed to a particular place, it puts one out to change." Then Agnes dropped her pretty eyes again to her worsted, and worked and hummed very faintly a little air, and Tom's heart swelled within him, and he hummed as faintly the same gay air. "I thought perhaps you liked that view?" said Tom Sedley, arresting the music. She looked out again. "Well, it's very pretty."
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