"Quentin—Quentin dear!" she exclaimed in a tone of earnest question and expostulation. It was the first time, almost, that she had addressed him since Cosmo's letter came, and now her voice thrilled through him. He threw his left arm round her, and clasping her right hand within his own, pressed it to his heart, which beat tumultuously, and while the long avenue seemed whirling round them, he said,—
"So Lady Rohallion has made up her mind that—that—you shall marry the Master, Flora?"
"So it is the fear of this that distresses you?"
Pride sealed Quentin's lips.
"My poor Quentin," resumed Flora, looking tenderly and innocently into his eyes, "you love me very much, don't you?"
"Love you—love you, Flora!" he stammered.
"Yes."
"I love you better than my life!" he exclaimed passionately.
"Well," said she, with a beautiful smile and a gaiety of manner that he did not quite relish; "I will never marry any man but he whom I choose myself—certainly not he who is chosen by others."
"Darling Flora!"