But such a determination would have been difficult to carry out in the gardens, when three people were arrayed dead against her. In a maze it was simply impossible; and the guide was not there.
She never knew how or when they were separated, but all at once she and Dick were on one side of a hedge, and Clotilde and Glen on the other, and when the boy laughingly tried to put matters right, he did it so cleverly that they were soon two hedges separate; then three, and likely to be four; by which time, forgetful of all his scrupulous feelings, and Clotilde’s want of perfection in his eyes, Glen had clasped her to his heart with a deep, low “My darling, at last!”
“Oh, no, no, no, Marcus,” she sobbed, as she gently thrust him away, and then clung to his arm, gazing piteously up at him the while. “You must not. I ought not to let you. I feel so wicked and despairing I hardly care to live.”
“But why, my darling—my beautiful darling?” he whispered passionately, contenting himself now with holding her hands.
“Because this is so wrong. My aunts would never forgive me if they knew.”
“That is what I want to speak about, dearest,” he said, in a low voice, as he drew her arm through his and they walked on. “May I speak to them? Let me call and ask their permission to come freely and openly to the apartments. I am only a poor suitor, Clotilde—only a captain of cavalry, with very little beside his pay; but you will not despise me for that?”
“For what?” she cried innocently, as she gazed up into his face.
“For my want of money,” he said, smiling down, and longing to clasp her once more in his arms.
“I hardly know what money is,” she said quietly. “We have never had any; so why should I care for that?”
“Then I may speak?” he whispered. “I may be better off by-and-by, and we can wait.”