"
"I have none."
"You never had one?"
"No."
"Why?"
I turned in my saddle.
"Why have you never had a gallant?"
"Oh, that is not the same. Men fall in love--or protest as much. And at
wine they boast of their good fortunes, swearing each that his mistress
is the fairest, and bragging till I yawn to listen.... And yet you say
you never had a sweetheart?"
"Neither titled nor untitled, cousin. And, if I had, at home we never
speak of it, deeming it a breach of honor."
"Why?"
"For shame, I suppose."
"Is it shameless to speak as I do?" she asked.
"Not to me, Dorothy. I wish you might be spared all that unlicensed
gossip that you hear at table--not that it could harm such innocence as
yours! For, on my honor, I never knew a woman such as you, nor a maid
so nobly fashioned!"
I stopped, meeting her wide eyes.
"Say it," she murmured. "It is happiness to hear you."
"Then hear me," I said, slowly. "Loyalty, devotion, tenderness, all are
your due; not alone for the fair body that holds your soul imprisoned,
but for the pure tenant that dwells in it so sweetly behind the blue
windows of your eyes! Dorothy! Dorothy! Have I said too much? Yet I beg
that you remember it, lest you forget me when I have gone from you....
And say to Sir George that I said it.
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