“Then I am an ill friend to be keeping you from him,” he said, his better nature asserting itself at the sight of the sorrow of the woman he loved so well. “Good-bye, Kitty,” he said gravely, bowing to kiss her hand.
“Good-bye, my lord. You are not angry with me?”
“No; not with you. Not angry, but hurt, and heart-sick. You will be my friend still, little Lady Kitty?”
“I am five feet six, Lord Dover. Is that tall enough to be the friend of a Marquess and the Lord Lieutenant of Kent?”
“It is tall enough for my heart, Kitty.”
“You must not talk of your heart any more, or I shall not let you come and see me.”
“But I may come and see you still, and walk and ride with you still. How often may I come and see you?”
“As often as you can bring me news of the fleet—Admiral Nelson’s fleet.”
This account of the leave-taking from Lord Dover I had from Katherine, the day I had the honour of becoming her brother-in-law, through Will’s sister Cecilia. But what took place at her leave-taking from her boy-lover I never had, for that is sacred to the girl and boy, who have the honour of being lovers still.