"Don't look vexed," she replied; "and don't scold me, though I deserve it. I am in one of my worst tempers this morning; and who can I wreak it on but you?—the kindest, the bravest, the most generous of men!"
His features quivered; the tears were not far from his eyes. A little boy with a hoop stood still, and stared up in his face, marvelling to see so tall a gentleman so greatly moved.
He took her hand. "You can always depend on me," he said softly; and, dropping it, walked on by her side in silence.
"I know I can," she answered. "I've known it a long time, though you don't think so. What a hideous little boy! Now he's gone on with his hoop, I'll tell you what I mean.—One of the things that first made me like you, was this—you're a gentleman down to the heels of your boots!"
"There's not much in that," he replied, looking pleased, nevertheless. "So are most of the men amongst whom you live. A fellow ought to have something more than a good coat and decent manners, to be worthy of your regard; and you do like me, Miss Douglas? Tell me so again. It is almost too much happiness for me to believe."
"That's not the question. If I hated anybody very much, do you think I would ask him to come and walk with me in Kensington Gardens at an hour when all respectable people are broiling in the Park?" said she, with one of her winning laughs. "You're wrong, though, about the people in good coats. What I call a gentleman is—well—I can't think of many—King Arthur, for instance, in 'Guinevere.'"
"Not Launcelot?" he asked. "I thought you ladies liked Launcelot best."
"There are plenty of Launcelots," she answered dreamily, "and always will be. Not Launcelot, nor another, except it be my General!"
Could he do less than take her arm and press it fondly to his side?