The flush grew a deeper glow on the lady's face; but, singular to relate, she did not look the least surprised or displeased; and the hand he had feloniously purloined lay passive and quite contented in his.
“Sir Norman Kingsley is pleased to jest,” said the lady, in a subdued tone, and with her eyes fixed pertinaciously on her shining dress; “for he has never spoken to me before in his life!”
“That has nothing to do with it, Leoline. I love you as devotedly as if I had known you from your birthday; and, strange to say, I feel as if we had been friends for years instead of minutes. I cannot realize at all that you are a stranger to me!”
Leoline laughed:
“Nor I; though, for that matter, you are not a stranger to me, Sir Norman!”
“Am I not? How is that!”
“I have seen you go past so often, you know; and Prudence told me who you were; and so I need—I used—” hesitating and glowing to a degree before which her dress paled.
“Well, dearest,” said Sir Norman, getting from the positive to the superlative at a jump, and diminishing the distance between them, “you need to—what?”
“To watch for you!” said Leoline, in a sly whisper. “And so I have got to know you very well!”
“My own darling! And, O Leoline! may I hope—dare I hope—that you do not altogether hate me?”