“I cannot, Alice,—I cannot,” stammered he out, while a deadly paleness spread over his face.
“Tony,” said she, gravely, “if you were a man of the world like your friend Mr. Darner, for instance, I would probably say that in a matter of this kind you ought to be left to your own judgment; but you are not. You are a kind-hearted simple-minded boy. Nay, don't blush and look offended; I never meant to offend you. Don't you know that?” and she held out to him her fair white hand, the taper fingers trembling with a slight emotion. Tony stooped and kissed it with a rapturous devotion. “There, I did not mean that, Master Tony,” said she, blushing; “I never intended your offence was to be condoned; I only thought of a free pardon.”
“Then give it to me, Alice,” said he, gulping down his emotion; “for I am going away, and who knows when I shall see you again?”
“Indeed,” said she, with a look of agitation; “have you reconsidered it, then? have you resolved to join Maitland?”
“And were you told of this, Alice?”
“Yes, Tony: as one who feels a very deep interest in you, I came to hear it; but, indeed, partly by an accident.”
“Will you tell me what it was you heard?” said he, gravely; “for I am curious to hear whether you know more than myself.”
“You were to go abroad with Maitland,—you were to travel on the Continent together.”
“And I was to be his secretary, eh?” broke in Tony, with a bitter laugh; “was n't that the notable project?”
“You know well, Tony, it was to be only in name.”