I am not one of those who
break paroles."
"Oh ... you are now free on parole."
"Prisoner on parole," she said, lightly. "I'm to name the day o'
punishment, and I promise you it will not be soon."
"Dorothy," I said, "suppose in the mean time you fell in love?"
"I'd like to," she said, sincerely.
"But--but what would you do then?"
"Love, silly!"
"And ... marry?"
"Marry him whom I have promised."
"But you would be wretched!"
"Why? I can't fancy wedding one I love. I should be ashamed, I think.
I--if I loved I should not want the man I loved to touch me--not
with gloves."
"You little fool!" I said. "You don't know what you say."
"Yes, I do!" she cried, hotly. "Once there was a captain from Boston; I
adored him. And once he kissed my hand and I hated him!"
"I wish I'd been there," I muttered.
She, waving her fan to and fro, continued: "I often think of splendid
men, and, dreaming in the sunshine, sometimes I adore them. But always
these day-dream heroes keep their distance; and we talk and talk, and
plan to do great good in the world, until I fall a-napping.... Heigho!
I'm yawning now." She covered her face with her fan and leaned back
against a pillar, crossing her feet. "Tell me about London," she said.
But I knew no more than she.
"I'd be a belle there," she observed.
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