“Oh! He was up here for two or three days, but had to go back to London on business. And I was very glad.”
“Of course, dearest, your mother still presses you to marry him.”
“Yes,” laughed the girl. “But she will continue to press. She’s constantly singing his praises until I’m utterly sick of hearing of all his good qualities.”
Hugh sighed, and replied:
“All men who are rich are possessed of good qualities in the estimation of the world. The poor and hard-up are the despised. But, after all, Dorise,” he added, in a changed voice, “you have not forgotten what you told me at Monte Carlo—that you love me?”
“I repeat it, Hugh!” declared the girl, deeply in earnest, her hand stealing into his. “I love only you!—you!”
Then again he took her in his arms, and imprinted a fierce, passionate kiss upon her ready lips.
“I suppose we must part again,” he sighed. “I am compelled to keep away from you because no doubt a watch has been set upon you, and upon your correspondence. Up to the present, I have been able, by the good grace of unknown friends, to slip through the meshes of the net spread for me. But how long this will continue, I know not.”
“Oh! do be careful, Hugh, won’t you?” urged the girl, as they sat side by side. The only sound was the rippling of the burn deep down in the glen, and the distant barking of a shepherd’s dog.
“Yes. I’ll get away into the wilds of Kensington—to Abingdon Road. One is safer in a London suburb than in a desert, no doubt. West London is a good hiding-place.”