"And tall?"
"Detestably so."
"You need not abuse her now," I say, reprovingly, "you loved her once."
"I did not," cries he, with some excitement. "I could never have loved her. It was a mad, boyish infatuation. Let us forget her, Phyllis; the subject is hateful to me. Oh my darling, my pet, no one ever really crept into my heart except you—you small, cold, cruel, little child."
I am softened. I make up my mind I will not be cold during the remainder of our day, so I slip my ungloved hand into his, and bring myself close up to his side.
"I will forgive you this time," I whisper; "but Marmaduke, promise me that never in the future will you conceal anything from me."
"I promise—I swear," says my betrothed, eagerly and I receive, and graciously return, the kiss of reconciliation he lays upon my lips.
CHAPTER XV.
We are unmistakably and most remarkably late, but that is scarcely a matter for wonder, considering the animal we drove and the vehicle in which we journeyed. We have been bumped and jolted and saddened all the way from Summerleas, besides having endured agonies of shame and fear lest any of the grander folk meeting us upon the road should look down upon us from their aristocratic equipages and scorn our dilapidated condition. By taking an unfrequented route, however, we arrive unseen, and are spared so much humiliation.
When Mr. Carrington asked me a week ago if a garden party at Strangemore would give me any pleasure—so little are we accustomed to gayeties of any kind—my spirits rose to fever height, and I told him without hesitation nothing on earth he could do for me would occasion me greater delight than his ordering and regulating a fete in which I might bear a part. Afterwards, when I fully understood the consequences of my rash words, how heartily did I repent them!