“That’s something,” said the Earl, in a tone of satisfaction, “and now will you accept these flowers as a gift from me? As, for the moment, I’ve nothing else to offer.”
Patty took the flowers in both hands, but Lord Ruthven still held them, too, saying: “And will you let them mean——?”
“No,” cried Patty, “they don’t mean anything—not anything at all!”
Lord Ruthven clasped Patty’s two hands, roses and all, in his own.
“They do,” he said quietly; “they mean I love you. Do you understand?”
He looked straight into the troubled, beseeching eyes that met his own.
“Please let me go, Lord Ruthven—please!” said Patty, her hands trembling in his own.
“You may go, if you will first call me by some less formal name. Patty, dearest, say Sylvester—just once!”
This desperate request was too much for Patty’s sense of humour.
“Why can’t I say it twice?” she said in a low tone, but her voice was shaking with laughter.