“Again you are right, Leopold; such a man would be like so many others I know.”
“Pardon me, Francis; our friendship is like a tender plant, and we must cultivate it so as to prevent its taking a crooked turn.”
“If you regard our friendship in such a serious light,” she resumed, whilst a slight blush suffused her cheeks, “I will capitulate on condition that our little quarrel of last night be forgotten and forgiven.”
I felt myself under the charm again, and seizing her hand in a transport of joy, I covered it with kisses.
“Leo, what are you doing?” she cried, pale and with tears in her eyes.
“Sealing the bond of our friendship.”
“Leo, Leo! you know not what you do,” she said softly; “you forget to whom you are speaking—I am Major Frank.”
“I will have no more of Major Frank; my cousin Francis Mordaunt must suffer me to offer her my arm.” And taking her hand again, I gently drew her arm within mine. She submitted in silence, with a singular expression of dejection on her face.
“I feel it will do me good to talk to you for once in this way, though it may be the first and only time. Where are you going, Leo?”
“To the farm yonder; I see you have been there already for eggs; let me carry the basket for you.”