I arose, and took the cane I had laid against a chair. What I was about to do I knew not. I felt I should launch some insolent provocation. As for what should follow, the event might decide that.
“I'd not mind him, Digby,” said Eccles, carelessly, as he lit his cigarette, and stretched his legs on a vacant chair. I took no notice of his words, but walked on. Before, however, I had made three steps my eyes caught the flutter of a dress at the end of the alley. It was merely the last folds of some floating muslin, but it was enough to rout all other thoughts from my head, and I flew down the walk with lightning speed. I was right; it was Pauline. In an instant I was beside her.
“Dearest, darling Pauline,” I cried, seizing her round the waist and kissing her cheek, before she well knew, “how happy it makes me to see you even for a few seconds.”
“Ah, milord, I did not expect to see you here,” said she, half distantly.
“I am not milord; I am your own Digby—Digby Nor-cott, who loves you, and will make you his wife.”
“Ma foi! children don't marry,—at least demoiselles don't marry them,” said she, with a saucy laugh.
“I am no more an 'enfant,'” said I, with a passionate stress on the word, “than I was last night, when you never left my arm except to sit at my side at supper.”
“But you are going away,” said she, pouting; “else why that travelling-dress, and that sack strapped at your side?”
“Only for a few weeks. A short tour up the Rhine, Pauline, to see the world, and complete my education; and then I will come back and marry you, and you shall be mistress of a beautiful house, and have everything you can think of.”
“Vrai?” asked she, with a little laugh.