“I dare not. We might both forget ourselves and go off to New Orleans for a lark without Aunt Lucinda.”
“Oh, I am going to call Aunt Lucinda, too.”
“Pardon, but you are going to do nothing of the kind. Even with her as chaperon, did we get down there in the old city once more, like the children we once were, Helena, we would forget our duty, would, perhaps, forget our purpose here. Mademoiselle, I dare not take that risk.”
“Please, Sir, may I walk with you over yonder for just a little time?” she said, as though it were her first request. She was tying her quaint little white bonnet strings under her chin now. I raised a hand.
“You ask a man to put himself into the power of the woman he loves most in all the world. When a man needs resolution, dare he look into the eyes of that woman, feel her hand on his arm, have her walk close to him as they promenade?”
“Dear me! Is it so bad as that?”
“Worse, Helena.”
“Then I am to continue a prisoner in that hat box?”
“Until you love me, Helena, as I do you.”
“As I told you, that would be a long time.”