He placed the
letter in her hand slowly, then caught her hand and held it firmly;
indeed their hands touched and lingered together with such intention
it conveyed much more meaning than words. Constance had all the
outward show of a great lady, but at soul she was putrescent. There
came such a heartrending sigh from her cavalier she spoke in a most
tender tone,--
"And why such sighing?"
"Is it not enough, sweet lady?"
"I am at a loss?"
"Nay, rather 'tis I that am at loss; for I had sought to gain thy
favour undivided, and I meet with thee only to give into thy hands a
trysting billet that lifts thy glorious orbs above me." He bowed low
in mock humility. Constance' heart fluttered at his ardent words.
"I would fain know who thus sues for a woman's love; 'tis possible--"
He lowered his masque. "Ah, his Grace of Monmouth!" She well-nigh
prostrated herself upon the saddle, in lieu of the fine courtesy
she would have swept had her position been more favourable. His
words--such gloriously sweet words when uttered by the lips of a
Duke--fed her vanity.
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