“Ah! Then he is with you to-night?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, he is. Ah! Hugh! How I hate his exquisite and superior manners. But he is such a close friend of mother’s that I can never escape him.”
“And he still pesters you with his attentions, of course,” remarked Hugh in a hard voice.
“Oh! yes, he is always pretending to be in love with me.”
“Love!” echoed Hugh. “Can such a man ever love a woman? Never, Dorise. He does not love you as I love you—with my whole heart and my whole soul.”
“Of course the fellow cannot,” she replied. “But, for mother’s sake, I have to suffer his presence.”
“At least you are frank, darling,” he laughed.
“I only tell you the truth, dear. Mother thinks she can induce me to marry him because he is so rich, but I repeat that I have no intention whatever of doing so. I love you, Hugh—and only you.”
Again he took her in his strong arms and pressed her to him, still being watched by the mysterious individual who had followed Dorise.
“Ah! my darling, these are, indeed, moments of supreme happiness,” Hugh exclaimed as he held her tightly in his arms. “I wonder when we dare meet again?”