Part 1, Chapter XXX.
A Little Narrative.
“Really, Cynthy, it is not a pleasant thing to talk to you about.”
“I insist upon knowing all, sir. Please tell me, Harry.”
“That first order would have been obeyed, Cynthy; but that last appeal makes me try to tell you with all my heart.”
“Now, Harry, once for all, I won’t have it,” said the little maiden, holding up a tiny white warning finger, which, as they were alone in the drawing-room, Lord Artingale seized and kissed. “I want you to be straightforward and sensible when you talk to me, sir, and if you do really like me, don’t pay me silly, sickly compliments.”
“I’ll never pay you another, Cynthy, as long as I live,” he said, eagerly; and the light-hearted girl burst into a merry fit of laughter.
“Oh, Harry, what a dear, stupid old boy you are. There, now, that will do—well, only one more. Now be serious, and tell me, for really I am in very, very great trouble.”
“But would you like me to tell you all about it?”
“Every word, Harry,” said Cynthia, with a quiet, earnest look, as she laid her little white hand in his.