“You forget I love her.”
“Oh, you play on one string. She’s not the only maid i’ the world,” pouted the London beauty.
“She’s the only one for me,” I said stubbornly, and then added dejectedly, “and she’s not for me neither.”
The little rogue began to laugh. “I give you up, Kenn. Y’are as moonstruck a lover as ever I saw. Here’s for a word of comfort, which you don’t deserve at all. For a week she will be a thunder-cloud, then the sun will beam more brightly than ever. But don’t you be too submissive. La! Women cannot endure a wheedling lover.”
After that bit of advice my sage little monitor fell sober and explained to me her reason for sending me the note. It appeared that Sir Robert Volney was due to meet the party at the inn that very evening, and Miss Westerleigh was of opinion that I and my charge would do well to take the road at once. I was of that mind myself. I lost no time in reaching the house and ordering a relay of horses for our immediate travel. Then I took the stairs three at a time and came knocking at Aileen’s door.
“Who iss there?” asked a small voice, full of tears and muffled in a pillow.
Her distress went to my heart, none the less because I who had been the cause of it could not heal it.
“Tis I—Kenneth Montagu. Open the door, please.”
There was a moment’s silence, then—
“I am not wishing to see Mr. Montagu to-night.”