rrimore she still hesitated. If she really loved Dorrimore
there would have been no hesitation. But she had never met any man who
did more than flatter her and gratify the pleasure she felt at being
admired.

Her decision was in the balance. The weight of a feather would turn the
scale one way or another. The feather came in the shape of Dorrimore
himself. There he was in three cornered hat and cloak, his powdered wig
white in the moonlight, pacing up and down, his hand resting on his
sword hilt. He caught sight of the shrinking figure in the shadow and
the hat was doffed in a profound bow. Undoubtedly a good looking young
man, but as undoubtedly a fop of the first water with his ruffles and
bosom of Mechlin lace, red heels to his shoes, gold clocks on his silk
stockings and the whiff of scent which heralded his coming.

When near enough his arm went round her and he drew back her hood. He
kissed her closely, so closely indeed that his ardour almost frightened
her, though she knew not why. He withdrew his lips and gazed into her
face, his own paling under the violence of his passion.

"Dearest Lavinia," he murmured. "You are the loveliest creature in the
world and I protest I am the luckiest of men. Have you no words of love
for me? Why so silent?"

She had not uttered a word. The rise and fall of her bosom showed her
agitation.

"I'm here. I'm here. Isn't that enough?" she faltered.

"Faith you're right, sweetheart. Then let us waste no time. My coach is
yonder."

He slid her arm within his and drew her forward. He was not unconscious
of a certain reluctance in her movements and a shyness in her manner,
but he put both down to maiden modesty. Her restraint made her all the
more enchanting and he quickened his pace. She was compelled to
accommodate her steps to his, but she did so unwillingly. A sudden
distrust whether of him or of herself she could not quite determine--had
seized her. She was repenting her rashness. She would have run from him
back to the school but that he held her too tightly. Within another
minute they had reached the heavy lumbering coach.

The coachman had seen them coming and descended from his box to open the
door. He was a big fellow who held himself erect like a soldier. His
swarthy complexion had a patch of purplish bloom spreading itself over
the cheek bones which told of constant tavern lounging. A pair of hawk's
eyes gleamed from under bushy beetling brows; wide loose lips and a