He was exultant over the progress he had made in his courtship at the picnic.

He had told his love--he had kissed her.

If he had not been accepted, he had, at least, not been rejected, and that was a measure of success quite enough to intoxicate so ardent and humble a lover as he.

And, indeed, what lover might not have taken courage at remembering the sweet pity that shone in her eyes at the revelation of his love-lorn state?
The fruition of his hopes, to which he had only dared look forward as possibly awaiting him somewhere in the dim future, was, maybe, almost at hand.

Circumstances combined to prolong these rose-tinted dreams.