"I think that would be best," said Leonora in a tone of decision. She was silent for a moment. Presently she looked up into Batiscombe's face, and her own was white and beautiful in the moonlight. "I wonder," she said, "whether any one heard that noise the dogs made? Oh, the poor, poor kitten,—it makes me quite cry to think of her!"
"Poor thing!" said Julius sympathetically. "But its ghost will not haunt the gardens, for it was amply avenged."
"Yes indeed!" said Leonora. "Oh, Julius, you are so strong,—I like you."
"Thanks," said Julius, "you are awfully good to like me." He laughed, but his hand caressed her hair tenderly, and Leonora was happy.
"It was just like us," said she, "to stop there at the top of the steps where we might have been seen in a moment—but I am glad. I hated those dogs."
"It was just as well," said he. "They would very likely have made more noise, and followed us."
"Oh yes—and just fancy the wrath when they are found to-morrow morning. But they might have bitten you dreadfully—I was terribly frightened."
"I fancy there will be more wrath about you, my dear, than about the dogs," said Julius, rather gravely.
"About me? Oh—I hardly know—perhaps. I do not think any one will mind very much."
"What does it matter who minds, as you call it?" asked Julius, pushing her thick hair from her forehead tenderly, and looking at her with loving eyes. "What does it matter to us now? What can anything ever matter again?"