“Evangeline--darling,” he pleaded. “Oh, why will you make us both
unhappy--tell me at least.”
“Your brother, the Duke,” I said, very low. “He will never consent to
your marrying a person like me with no relations.”
He was silent for a second,--then, “My brother is an awfully good
fellow,” he said, “but his mind is warped by his infirmity. You must
not think hardly of him--he will love you directly he sees you, like
everyone else.”
“I saw him yesterday,” I said.
Robert was so astonished.
“Where did you see him?” he asked.
Then I told him about meeting Lady Merrenden, and her asking me to
luncheon, and about her having been in love with papa, and about the
Duke having looked me through and through with an expression of dislike.
“Oh, I see it all!” said Robert, holding me closer. “Aunt Sophia and
I are great friends, you know, she has always been like my mother,
who died when I was a baby. I told her all about you when I came from
Branches, and how I had fallen deeply in love with you at first sight,
and that she must help me to see you at Tryland; and she did, and then
I thought you had grown to dislike me, so when I came back she guessed
I was unhappy about something, and this is her first step to find out
how she can do me a good turn--oh! she is a dear!”
“Yes, indeed she is,” I said.
“Of course she is extra interested in you if she was in love with your
father! So that is all right, darling, she must know all about your
family, and can tell Torquilstone. Why, we have nothing to fear!”
“Oh yes we have!” I said. “I know all the story of what your brother
is _toqué_ about. Lady Ver told me. You see the awkward part is, mamma
was really nobody, her father and mother forgot to get married, and
although mamma was lovely, and had been beautifully brought up by two
old ladies at Brighton, it was a disgrace for papa marrying her--Mrs.
Carruthers has often taunted me with this!”
“Darling!” he interrupted, and began to kiss me again, and that gave me
such feelings I could not collect my thoughts to go on with what I was
saying for a few minutes. We both were rather silly--if it is silly to
be madly, wildly happy,--and oblivious of every thing else.
“I will go straight to Aunt Sophia now, when I take you back to
Claridge’s,” he said, presently, when we had got a little calmer.
I wonder what kisses do that they make one have that perfectly lovely
sensation down the back, just like certain music does, only much, much
more so. I thought they would be dreadful things when it was a question
of Christopher, but Robert! Oh well, as I said before, I can’t think of
any other heaven.
“What time is it?” I had sense enough to ask presently.
He lit a match, and looked at his watch.
“Ten minutes past five,” he exclaimed.
“And Christopher was coming about four,” I said, “and if you had not
chanced to meet me in the Park, by now I should have been engaged to
him, and probably trying to bear his kissing me.”
“My God!” said Robert, fiercely, “it makes me rave to think of it,” and
he held me so tight for a moment, I could hardly breathe.
“You won’t have anyone else’s kisses ever again, in this world, and
that I tell you,” he said, through his teeth.
“I--I don’t want them,” I whispered, creeping closer to him; “and I
never have had any, never any one but you, Robert.”
“Darling,” he said, “how that pleases me!”
Of course, if I wanted to, I could go on writing pages and pages of
all the lovely things we said to one another, but it would sound,
even to read to myself, such nonsense, that I can’t, and I couldn’t
make the tone of Robert’s voice, or the exquisite fascination of his
ways--tender, and adoring, and masterful. It must all stay in my heart;
but oh! it is as if a fairy with a wand had passed, and said “bloom” to
a winter tree. Numbers of emotions that I had never dreamed about were
surging through me--the flood-gates of everything in my soul seemed
opening in one rush of love and joy. While we were together, nothing
appeared to matter--all barriers melted away.
Fate would be sure to be kind to lovers like us!
We got back to Claridge’s about six, and Robert would not let me go up
to my sitting-room, until he had found out if Christopher had gone.
Yes, he had come at four, we discovered, and had waited twenty minutes,
and then left, saying he would come again at half-past six.
“Then you will write him a note, and give it to the porter for him,
saying you are engaged to me, and can’t see him,” Robert said.
“No, I can’t do that--I am not engaged to you, and cannot be until your
family consent, and are nice to me,” I said.
“Darling,” he faltered, and his voice trembled with emotion, “darling,
love is between you and me, it is our lives--however that can go, the
ways of my family, nothing shall ever separate you from me, or me from
you, I swear it. Write to Christopher.”