And, as she smiled at the words, she looked so lovely and so loving, that he forgot everything except the passionate longing to call her his own. He bent down and kissed the pure, sweet lips that had never been kissed before.
CHAPTER XIII.
LED ON BY FATE.
Lady Hermione did not utter one word. She was not angry; he knew that, for the beautiful face flushed warm as he touched it.
“He has a right to kiss me,” she thought to herself, “for he loves me. No one has ever kissed me before, and never shall.”
Then he would have told her the story of his love, the story that rose from his heart to his lips in a burning torrent of words; but at that moment, over the roses came the sound of light laughter, and there was no more solitude; he was obliged to leave the story untold.
It was Captain Gordon and Miss Monteith, seeking the cool air of the grounds. Simple accident led them to that path among the roses, but the accident, simple as it was, altered the course of three lives.
Not again that evening did Sir Ronald find even three minutes’ leisure to devote to Lady Hermione. She was the belle of the ball, the queen of the fête, always surrounded by a little court of admirers, the center of all homage. Yet he was content.
“She cares for me,” he said to himself, over and over again; “she was not angry when I kissed her face. She is so dainty, so pure, so sweet, that if she had not meant that I should love her she would have rebuked me with proud words. She loves me, and when I ask her to be my wife, she will not say me nay.”
And the very thought caused his heart to beat high with triumph, made his whole soul overflow with happiness, and while he stood there he saw Miss Severn looking at him with wistful eyes. It struck him at once how entirely he had forgotten her, and he hurried across the ballroom.
The beautiful, passionate face seemed to glow with new life as he bowed to her.