“I was,” I replied, dryly. Sedgemoor had taken all the distinction from me, depriving me of lands and title.
“Hum, Sir Francis Dane. I wonder if he will care for plain Lucille de Guilfort,” with a playful air of sadness.
My answer was a kiss.
“I love you, Lucille,” I said fervently, when she had escaped from me.
“Well,” she remarked, plaintively, “I loved you as plain Captain Amherst, perforce I must do so, since you are now Sir Francis Dane, accustomed to being obeyed, I presume.”
“To the letter,” I answered, sternly.
“Now that is over,” I went on, “when are we to wed?”
“Not too soon. Wait until spring.”
“That will be in March.”
“Oh! ’Tis too early. There is much to be done. Linen to make up, dresses to fashion and, indeed, if it were not for the kindness of Madame Carteret I would have no gown now, but the sorry garment you found me in.”