Warm hearted, impulsive, careless Lady Betty was not one to give her heart unless she gave it royally.
After a moment she raised her face, rosy and tear-stained, but smiling.
“Did you know me at first?” she asked, “in the woods at Althorpe? Did you divine who I was?”
He laughed softly, taking her face between his hands and holding it fondly, framed thus, so she could not hide it from him.
“Did I know the sun when it shone?” he asked. “Ah, my little witch, I knew you! I had been watching you for two days and more, whenever I could catch a glimpse of you. Did you know me, madam?”
She smiled adorably and tried to hide her blushes in his hands.
“I felt it,” she whispered, “I think I knew you by intuition—from that first moment—but afterwards—”
“But afterwards?” he asked relentlessly.
She laughed, her eyes shining. “You tried to deceive me,” she said, “in the garden—you remember?—for a little while, I thought you couldn’t be you, and—” her voice trailed off, her face was as scarlet as any poppy.
“And?” he persisted gleefully, holding her still.