"I--I don't want them," I whispered creeping closer to him. "And I never have had any, never any one but you, Robert."

"Darling," he said, "how that pleases me!"

Of course, if I wanted to I could go on writing pages and pages of all the lovely things we said to each other, but it would sound, even to read to myself, such nonsense that I can't, and I couldn't make the tone of Robert's voice, or the exquisite fascination of his ways--tender, and adoring, and masterful. It must all stay in my heart, but oh! it is as if a fairy with a wand had pa.s.sed and said "bloom" to a winter tree. Numbers of emotions that I had never dreamed about were surging through me--the floodgates of everything in my soul seemed opening in one rush of love and joy. While we were together nothing appeared to matter, all barriers melted away.

Fate would be sure to be kind to lovers like us.

We got back to Claridge's about six, and Robert would not let me go up to my sitting-room until he had found out if Christopher had gone.

Yes, he had come at four, we discovered, and had waited twenty minutes, and then left, saying he would come again at half-past six.

"Then you will write him a note, and give it to the porter for him, saying you are engaged to me and can't see him," Robert said.

"No, I won't do that. I am not engaged to you, and cannot be until your family consent and are nice to me," I said.

"Darling!" he faltered, and his voice trembled with emotion. "Darling, love is between you and me--it is our lives. However, that can go. The ways of my family--nothing shall ever separate you from me or me from you, I swear it! Write to Christopher."

I sat down at a table in the hall and wrote:

"DEAR MR. CARRUTHERS,--

"I am sorry I was out," then I bit the end of my pen. "Don't come and see me this evening. I will tell you why in a day or two.

"Yours sincerely,

"EVANGELINE TRAVERS.

"Will that do?" I said, and I handed it to Robert, while I addressed the envelope.

"Yes," he said, and waited while I sealed it up and gave it to the porter.

Then, with a surrept.i.tious squeeze of the hand, he left me to go to Lady Merrenden.

I have come up to my little sitting-room a changed being. The whole world revolves for me upon another axis, and all within the s.p.a.ce of three short hours.

CLARIDGE'S,

Sunday night, _November 27th._

Late this evening, about eight o'clock, when I had relocked my journal, I got a note from Robert. I was just going to begin my dinner.

I tore it open, inside was another; I did not wait to look who from, I was too eager to read his. I paste it in:

"CARLTON HOUSE TERRACE.

"MY DARLING,--

"I have had a long talk with Aunt Sophia, and she is everything that is sweet and kind, but she fears Torquilstone will be a little difficult (_I don't care_, _nothing_ shall separate us now). She asks me not to go and see you again to-night as she thinks it would be better for you that I should not go to the hotel so late. Darling, read her note, and you will see how nice she is. I shall come round to-morrow, the moment the beastly stables are finished, about twelve o'clock. Oh, take care of yourself! What a difference to-night and last night!

I was feeling horribly miserable and reckless, and to-night!

Well, you can guess. I am not half good enough for you, darling beautiful queen, but I think I shall know how to make you happy. I love you.

"Good-night my own.

"ROBERT."

"Do please send me a tiny line by my servant. I have told him to wait."

I have never had a love-letter before. What lovely things they are. I felt thrills of delight over bits of it. Of course I see now that I must have been dreadfully in love with Robert all along, only I did not know it quite. I fell into a kind of blissful dream, and then I roused myself up to read Lady Merrenden's. I sha'n't put hers in, too; it fills up too much, and I can't shut the clasp of my journal. It is a perfectly sweet little letter, just saying Robert had told her the news, and that she was prepared to welcome me as her dearest niece, and to do all she could for us. She hoped I would not think her very tiresome and old-fashioned suggesting Robert had better not see me again to-night, and, if it would not inconvenience me, she would herself come round to-morrow morning and discuss what was best to be done.

Veronique said Lord Robert's valet was waiting outside the door, so I flew to my table and began to write. My hand trembled so I made a blot, and had to tear that sheet up; then I wrote another. Just a little word. I was frightened; I couldn't say loving things in a letter; I had not even spoken many to him--yet.

"I loved your note," I began; "and I think Lady Merrenden is quite right.

I will be here at twelve, and very pleased to see you." I wanted to say I loved him, and thought twelve o'clock a long way off, but of course one could not write such things as that, so I ended with just,

"Love from

"EVANGELINE."

Then I read it over, and it did sound "missish" and silly. However, with the man waiting there in the pa.s.sage, and Veronique fussing in and out of my bedroom, besides the waiters bringing up my dinner, I could not go tearing up sheets and writing others, it looked so flurried, so it was put into an envelope. Then, in one of the seconds I was alone, I nipped off a violet from a bunch on the table and pushed it in, too. I wonder if he will think it sentimental of me! When I had written the name, I had not an idea where to address it. His was written from Carlton House Terrace, but he was evidently not there now, as his servant had brought it. I felt so nervous and excited, it was too ridiculous--I am very calm as a rule. I called the man, and asked him where was his lordship now? I did not like to say I was ignorant of where he lived.

"His Lordship is at Vavasour House, madam," he said, respectfully, but with the faintest shade of surprise that I should not know. "His lordship dines at home this evening with his grace."

I scribbled a note to Lady Merrenden. I would be delighted to see her in the morning at whatever time suited her. I would not go out at all, and I thanked her. It was much easier to write sweet things to her than to Robert.

When I was alone I could not eat. Veronique came in to try and persuade me. I looked so very pale, she said, she feared I had taken cold. She was in one of her "old-mother" moods, when she drops the third person sometimes, and calls me "_mon enfant_."

"Oh, Veronique, I have not got a cold; I am only wildly happy," I said.

"Mademoiselle is doubtless fiancee to Mr. Carruthers. _Oh, mon enfant adoree_," she cried, "_que je suis contente!_"

"Gracious, no!" I exclaimed. This brought me back to Christopher with a start. What would he say when he heard?

"No, Veronique, to some one much nicer--Lord Robert Vavasour."

Veronique was frightfully interested. Mr. Carruthers she would have preferred, to me, she admitted, as being more solid, more "_range_,"

"_plus a la fin de ses betises_," but, no doubt, "milor" was charming too, and for certain one day mademoiselle would be d.u.c.h.ess. In the meanwhile what kind of coronet would mademoiselle have on her trousseau?

I was obliged to explain that I should not have any, or any trousseau, for an indefinite time, as nothing was settled yet. This damped her a little.

"_Un frere de duc, et pas de couronne!_" After seven years in England she was yet unable to understand these strange habitudes, she said.

She insisted upon putting me to bed directly after dinner, "to be prettier for _milor demain_!" and then when she had tucked me up, and was turning out the light in the centre of the room, she looked back. "Mademoiselle is too beautiful like that," she said, as if it slipped from her. "_Mon Dieu!