"The admiral forced the match upon me—he is so arbitrary! I consented in a cowardly moment; but that was before I had seen you. The gentleman I was betrothed to saw I was not contented before even I knew it myself; he himself volunteered to release me. Of all the unselfish men I know, Mr. Rodda is——"
("The deuce he is!") thought Roscoria to himself. "Not Eric Rodda, Miss Villiers—the young fellow I tutored at Rome! Brother of Tom? Poor fellow! I feel like a brute, somehow."
"No use to feel so, Louis; it was all over before ever I saw you."
"'Louis'—you darling! Could you put up with a very modest style of existence—at Torres? You said you admired the situation."
"Oh! are you poor?"
"The proverbial church-mouse is a Rothschild to me."
"What a cruel thing that is!" sighed Lyndis; "when the admiral, my mother, my stepfather, all insist on my marrying a rich man."
"Then, my dear lady, go and do it in Heaven's name!" cried Roscoria, and at sight of her surprised face he said, repentantly, "I beg your pardon—Lyndis—darling."
"Which do you put first?" asked Lyndis, smiling sweetly, "Obedience or Love?"
"Love," emphatically responded Louis.