When they have declared over and over again (in different language every time, of course) the everlasting affection each feels for the other, Cecilia says:
"How late it grows! and you are in your evening dress, and without a hat. Have you dined?"
"Not yet; but I don't want any dinner." (By this remark, O reader, you may guess the depth and sincerity of his love.) "We generally dine at half-past seven, but to-night we are to starve until eight to oblige Florence, who has been spending the day somewhere. So I dressed early and came down to see you."
"At eight," says Cecilia, alarmed: "it is almost that now. You must go, or Lady Chetwoode will be angry with me, and I don't want any one belonging to you to think bad thoughts of me."
"There is plenty of time: it can't be nearly eight yet. Why, it is only half an hour since I came."
"It is a quarter to eight," says Cecilia, solemnly. "Do go, and come again as early as you can to-morrow."
"You will be glad to see me?"
"Yes, if you come very early."
"And you are sure, my own darling, that you really love me?"
"Quite, quite sure," tenderly.