And then had come that wonderful day, a day in her life ever to be marked with a white stone, when Guy had overtaken her as she was indulging in a solitary ramble in the now leafless park.
In impassioned words he had told her how he loved her, how she was the one woman in the world he wanted for his wife. He loved her. Did she care for him? Dazed, and overjoyed with her happiness, her lovely dark eyes half suffused with tears, she faltered forth a trembling yes.
He took her in his arms, and gave her her first lover’s kiss.
Then, when her brain had ceased to whirl, when she could recover from the great shock of her newly-found joy, she began to think.
“But it is all a dream,” she murmured. “It is impossible.”
“Impossible!” repeated Guy. “Why do you use the word?”
“But, of course, you can see. You are the son of an aristocrat, big even amongst aristocrats. I am a nobody. Lady Glanville tells me you are going to be an ambassador, or something dreadfully big and awe-inspiring.”
Guy laughed genially. “Oh, you sweet little soul. Has that dear old woman been filling you with all that sort of stuff? Haven’t brains enough, my darling. And, if it should turn out true, and I do become an ambassador, you will grow up with me, and you’ll find the part of ambassador’s wife fit you like a glove.”
But, presently, after the first rhapsodies had passed, they began to talk soberly.
Guy had to state that his father, splendid old fellow as he was, none better, was very prejudiced and, as his son put it with more than filial frankness, “as obstinate as a mule.”