“Surely you will not care to see those, Miss Manners.”
“O lud, of course you must,” chimed in the Miss Stanleys; “there is no spice in these flaps and flies.”
He led us accordingly into Druid's Walk, overarched with elms, and dark as the shades, our gentlemen singing, “'Ods! Lovers will contrive,'” in chorus, the ladies exclaiming and drawing together. Then I felt a soft, restraining hold on my arm, and fell back instinctively, vibrating to the touch.
“Could you not see that I have been trying to get a word with you for ever so long?”
“I trust you to find a way, Dolly, if you but wish,” I replied, admiring her stratagem.
“I am serious to-night.” Indeed, her voice betrayed as much. How well I recall those rich and low tones! “I said I wished you shut up in the Marshalsea, and I meant it. I have been worrying about you.”
“You make me very happy,” said I; which was no lie.
“Richard, you are every bit as reckless and indifferent of danger as they say your father was. And I am afraid—”
“Of what?” I asked quickly.
“You once mentioned a name to me—”