"Oh, but I am happier than usual to-day," answered I, very naturally.
Before we parted, the duke knew as much of me and my adventures as I knew myself. He was very anxious to be allowed to call on me.
"And how will your particular friend Frederick Lamb like that?" inquired I.
The duke laughed.
"Well then," said his grace, "do me the honour, some day, to come and dine or sup with me at Argyle House."
"I shall not be able to run away, if I go there," I answered, laughingly, in allusion to my last note.
"Shall you want to run away from me?" said Argyle; and there was something unusually beautiful and eloquent in his countenance, which brought a deep blush into my cheek.
"When we know each other better?" added Argyle, beseechingly. "En attendant, will you walk again with me to-morrow?" I assented, and we parted.
I returned to my home in unusual spirits: they were a little damped, however, by the reflection that I had been doing wrong. "I cannot," I reasoned with myself, "I cannot, I fear, become what the world calls a steady, prudent, virtuous woman. That time is past, even if I was ever fit for it. Still I must distinguish myself from those in the like unfortunate situations, by strict probity and love of truth. I will never become vile. I will always adhere to good faith, as long as anything like kindness or honourable principle is shown towards me: and, when I am ill used, I will leave my lover rather than deceive him.
"Frederick Lamb relies, in perfect confidence, on my honour. True that confidence is the effect of vanity. He believes that a woman who could resist him, as I did at Brighton, is the safest woman on earth! He leaves me alone and without sufficient money for common necessaries.