Lavinia put out her hand and he
caught it eagerly and raised it to his lips.
"You've made me happy," he cried, "you've given me fresh hope. I'll
promise you all you've asked. You must promise me one thing in return. I
can't lose sight of you. It would be eternal torment. When and where
shall we meet?"
"I don't know. Perhaps not at all," said Lavinia slowly and lowering her
eyes.
"Don't say that. I've told you why. Not at my miserable lodgings, I
grant you, but at some other place. What say you to Rosamond's Pond?"
Lavinia darted him a swift glance. The ghost of a smile played about her
lips.
"The Lovers' Walk of London! Oh, no."
"But indeed yes. What have you to say against Rosamond's Pond? Its
reputation justifies its romance."
"Neither its reputation nor its romance has anything to do with us."
"That is as it may be," he rejoined with an ardent glance. "But you
haven't said no. Rosamond's Pond then to-morrow at sunset--seven
o'clock?"
Lavinia was too exhausted in mind and body either to refuse or even to
argue. She felt as she had felt many a time in her childhood that she
was simply a waif and stray. Nothing mattered very much. It was easier
to consent than to object.
"To-morrow at sunset," she faltered.
"It's a bargain," he whispered. "You won't disappoint me?"
"Haven't I given you my word? What more do you want?"
She held out her hand and he pressed it between both his, his eyes fixed
earnestly on her face.
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