"And Miss Rosetta?" asked the lieutenant; but this question, which to him was most important, got lost, as totally irrelevant to the matter in hand. In despair the tired and heated Roscoria was gently led away by his friend, and the moment they appeared out of doors they were cheered by the sight of the ladies, who were waiting in the garden.
"It has not gone well with you, has it, Louis?" asked Lyndis anxiously.
"Gone well! It has gone vilely, Lyndis. Why do you encourage such a curmudgeon of a peppery old Cambyses as an uncle?"
"My relative, if you please, sir," said the loyal Lyndis. "Why do you get us all into such scrapes, you inconsiderate, duped Hotspur?"
"Because I am in love, most beautiful; they say it affects the intellect. So tell me what we are to do now."
"Well—would you like to give me up?"
"Don't," prayed the lover, with an imploring gaze at his goddess. "Say something cheering, for—eh! it was warm in there."
Lyndis nodded her beautiful head sagaciously, passed her hand over Roscoria's forehead, smoothing it, and smiled to herself to see how his countenance cleared under the comfort.
"Dear one, to me you are an Immortal," he said, reflectively; "but—if you have an age, what might it be?"
"That will not do," said Lyndis; "a minor I am, and a minor I fear I shall remain for a year or two more. But if you will wait——"