‘Oh, a memento mori!’ cried he.
And she answered, ‘Yes.’
He rallied her for her superstition, pursuing, ‘Surely, my love, ‘tis a cheap riddance of a pestilent, intrusive jaloux. Whip it into his hands for a mittimus.’
‘Does his presence distress you?’ she asked.
‘I will own that to be always having the fellow dogging us, with his dejected leer, is not agreeable. He watches us now, because my lips are close by your cheek. He should be absent; he is one too many. Speed him on his voyage with the souvenir he asks for.’
‘I keep it for a journey of my own, which I may have to take,’ said Chloe.
‘With me?’
‘You will follow; you cannot help following me, Caseldy.’
He speculated on her front. She was tenderly smiling. ‘You are happy, Chloe?’
‘I have never known such happiness,’ she said. The brilliancy of her eyes confirmed it.