“Very pretty indeed!” remarked Ormiston to himself, with a little approving nod; “but I'm afraid they won't be able to keep it up, and go on talking on stilts like that, till they have finished. Perhaps they may get on all the better if I take myself off, there being always one too many in a case like this.” Then aloud: “Madame, I regret that I am obliged to depart, having a most particular appointment; but, doubtless, my friend will be able to express himself without my assistance. I have the honor to wish you both good-night.”
With which neat and appropriate speech, Ormiston bowed himself out, and was gone before Leoline could detain him, even if she wished to do so. Probably, however, she thought the care of one gentleman sufficient responsibility at once; and she did not look very seriously distressed by his departure; and, the moment he disappeared, Sir Norman brightened up wonderfully.
It is very discomposing to the feelings to make love in the presence of a third party; and Sir Norman had no intention of wasting his time on anything, and went at it immediately. Taking her hand, with a grace that would have beaten Sir Charles Grandison or Lord Chesterfield all to nothing, he led her to a couch, and took a seat as near her as was at all polite or proper, considering the brief nature of their acquaintance. The curtains were drawn; the lamp shed a faint light; the house was still, and there was no intrusive papa to pounce down upon them; the lady was looking down, and seemed in no way haughty or discouraging, and Sir Norman's spirits went up with a jump to boiling-point.
Yet the lady, with all her pretty bashfulness, was the first to speak.
“I'm afraid, Sir Norman, you must think this a singular hour to come here; but, in these dreadful times, we cannot tell if we may live from one moment to another; and I should not like to die, or have you die, without my telling, and you hearing, all my gratitude. For I do assure you, Sir Norman,” said the lady, lifting her dark eyes with the prettiest and most bewitching earnestness, “that I am grateful, though I cannot find words to express it.”
“Madame, I would not listen to you if you would; for I have done nothing to deserve thanks. I wish I could tell you what I felt when Ormiston told me you were alive and safe.”
“You are very kind, but pray do not call me madame. Say Leoline!”
“A thousand thanks, dear Leoline!” exclaimed Sir Norman, raising her hand to his lips, and quite beside himself with ecstasy.
“Ah, I did not tell you to say that!” she cried, with a gay laugh and vivid blush. “I never said you were to call me dear.”
“It arose from my heart to my lips,” said Sir Norman, with thrilling earnestness and fervid glance; “for you are dear to me—dearer than all the world beside!”