“But where is he? what is the accident? What does your presence mean? Did he send you?”
I laughed, but could not tell him. Then I reflected that the errand on which he had come was no laughing matter, and I became grave again.
“My lord,” I said, “is it well to tell a girl one day that you love her, and the next to come out to fight with swords about a trifle? Do you think nothing of a broken heart?”
“My dear,” he replied, “it was forced upon me, believe me. A man must fight if he is insulted openly. There is no help for it till customs change.”
“Oh!” I cried; “can that man be in his senses who hopes to win a woman’s heart by insulting and trying to kill—her—her lover?”
“Yes, Kitty.” He caught my hand and kissed it. “Your lover—your most unhappy lover! who can do no more than say he loves you, and yet can never hope to marry you. How did I dare to open my heart to you, my dear, with such a shameful story to tell?”
“My lord,” I said, “promise me, if you sincerely love me, which I cannot doubt, not to fight with this hot-headed young man.”
“I promise,” he replied, “to do all that a man of honour may, in order to avoid a duel with him.”
“Then, my lord, I promise, once more in return—if you would care to have such a promise from so poor a creature as myself——”
“Kitty! Divine angel!”