He stood motionless beneath her touch.
“You are sorry for me—you angel!—and you’re sorry for Otto—and you want to make up to everybody—and make everybody happy—and—”
“And one can’t!” said Connie quietly, her eyes bright with tears. “Don’t I know that? I repeat”—her colour was very bright—“but perhaps you won’t believe, that—that”—then she laughed—“of my own free will, I never kissed anybody before?”
“Constance!” He threw his strong arms round her again. But she slipped out of them.
“Am I believed?” The tone was peremptory.
Falloden stooped, lifted her hand and kissed it humbly.
“You know you ought to marry a duke!” he said, trying to laugh, but with a swelling throat.
“Thank you—I never saw a duke yet I wanted to marry.”
“That’s it. You’ve seen so little. I am a pauper, and you might marry anybody. It’s taking an unfair advantage. Don’t you see—what—”
“What my aunts will think?” asked Constance coolly. “Oh, yes, I’ve considered all that.”