“Nay, it is good-by,” she was saying.
The boy caught her fingers and the roses together:—
“Oh, madam, will you turn all my joy into sorrow?”
Here the gate-bell clanged again.
“My father,” cried Harry, starting toward the steps.
“Farewell,” said Diana, “and—”
“Ah, no,” cried the poor lover, distractedly, and ran back to fling himself once more before her. “But a few minutes, dearest Diana!”
She hesitated before his distress. Lionel irritably seized her arm.
“Nay, child, you must come!” The touch, the tone were overmasterful. She flashed a haughty look upon him.
“Must! Cousin Lionel?”