“All is well, my darling! She has given her consent to our marriage.”
She clung to him with trembling hands.
“She has told you——”
“Everything about the romance of your life—yes, dear.” He kissed the quivering rosebud lips that began to frame the words:
“I—want—to tell—you all—about—it, Bayard. Indeed—I was—was not—so much to blame—after all—and—and——”
“Not another word, now, my own love,” he said fondly. “No one blames you for anything.”
He thought she referred to the deception that had been practiced in letting him believe that she was Mrs. Howard’s own daughter so long. True to his implied promise to Mrs. Howard, he would not let the girl know that he was disappointed.
He took the beautiful, pale face in his hands and kissed the quivering rosebud lips.
“Do you think I blame you for being poor, instead of Mrs. Howard’s heiress?” he said reproachfully. “Nonsense, little darling! I love you for yourself alone.”
“Oh, Bayard, you are so good to me!” she said gratefully, and she wondered how she was going to make her confession to him, since he forbade her to speak of the past.