“What lovely flowers!” he said.
“Bessie’s!” explained Lally, nodding in the direction of the pretty face, the owner of which now, with the assistance of Lord Kemms, emerged from amid the hedge of evergreens, and stood before his lordship, laughing and blushing, a vision of loveliness worth contemplating.
“We were gathering flowers,” she said, in elucidation of Lally’s statement.
“A very appropriate occupation,” remarked his lordship, gallantly.
He would have liked nothing better than ten minutes’ conversation with this young lady, who had appeared so unexpectedly before him; but Miss Ormson was not inclined to gratify this innocent desire, and made her disinclination so prettily apparent, that his lordship had no resource left but to bid Lally farewell, which he did most affectionately.
“Good-bye, dear.”
“Dood-bye!” and Lally confided to him one of her little brown hands.
“Will you give me a kiss?”
“Iss;” and Lally made up her mouth, and went through the ceremony with laudable readiness and composure.
“Remember, you promised to marry me. I’m to wait for you, you know.”