"I don't know a bit. You'll have to ask mother.
P'raps--she may not allow it at all."
"Ho! Won't she?" said Sir Eustace. "I think I know better. What about
that trip on the yacht in July? Can you be ready in time for that?"
"Oh, I expect I could be ready sooner than that," said Dinah naively.
"You could?" He smiled upon her. "Well, next week then! What do you say
to next week?"
But she shrank again at that. "Oh no! Not possibly! Not possibly!
You--you're laughing!" She looked at him accusingly.
He caught her to him. "You baby! You innocent! Yes, I'm going to kiss
you. Where will you have it? Just anywhere?"
He held her and kissed her, still laughing, yet with a heat that made her
flinch involuntarily; kissed the pointed chin and quivering lips, the
swift-shut eyes and soft cheeks, the little, trembling dimple that came
and went.
"Yes, you are mine--all mine," he said. "Remember, I have a right to you
now that no one else has. Not all the mammas in the world could come
between us now."
She laughed, half-exultantly, half-dubiously, peeping at him through her
lowered lashes. "I wonder if you'll still say that when--when you've
seen--my mother," she murmured.
He kissed her again, kissed anew the dimples that showed and vanished so
alluringly. "You will see presently, my Daphne," he said. "But I'm going
to have you, you know. That's quite understood, isn't it?"
"Yes," whispered Dinah, with docility.
Pages:
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287