"I do care for thee," she said softly, a delicious color stealing over her face.
"Then one kiss."
She stood up on tiptoe and her soft, rosy lips met his.
"Heaven bless thee, little Primrose. Thou art very dear to me. Go show thy gift to Madam Wetherill. I asked her permission beforehand."
She ran to Madam Wetherill's room, holding up both arms. "See!" she cried.
"Yes. It is a new fashion, and I said when thou wert old enough for rings and gewgaws there is all thy mother's. But he coaxed so to give thee something. I hope thou thanked him prettily."
She hung her head, while a warm color came into her face, and raised her eyes hesitatingly.
"I would not be pleased at first because he said I was a prisoner, and that Americans were traitors."
"He loves to tease thee, Primrose. Yet he has a deep and fervent affection for thee."
Primrose hid her face on the ample shoulder. "I kissed him," she murmured softly. "Was it very wrong? For he coaxed so about it."