“I am but lately affianced to him, my lord,” retorted Katherine, this time with mischief in her eyes.
“You don’t mean to say that you’re taking this tomfoolery seriously, Lady Katherine—Kitty?”
“It is no tomfoolery to me, my lord,” she said, with a flash of rising anger that warned him. “I had kissed him my love, before you nettled my father into giving me the leave he might never have given otherwise.”
By this time the minuet was over, and Katherine had suffered herself to be led into one of the aisles of the barn which had been rigged into a ball-room.
“Oh, Kitty,” cried the Marquess, with a change of tone, which made her woman’s heart gentle to him, “I won’t call it that name again, because it makes you angry; but tell me that you did not mean it seriously, for you know I have loved you three months past, and been waiting for the opportunity you have always fenced off with some jest or piece of mischief.”
“And could you not guess why, my lord?”
“Why?” he echoed, sadly.
“Because I knew I did not love you honestly, and, warmly as I liked you, I was waiting to see if I could love you. You may rely on it, that when I felt myself conquered, I should have thrown down my weapons and surrendered at discretion.”
“And can you not love me yet?”
“Never now, my lord, more than a friend.”