He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn. I am your servitor. He saluted awkwardly. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. He remained talking with her however. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl. "I'll see him fettered myself.
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