“I will not listen! I will not, I tell you! Oh, you are unkind to plague me so!”

Lovelace took her into his arms once more, and drawing down her hands, kissed her again and again. She resisted, trying to thrust him off, but she was crushed against him, and he would have kissed her again, had not there come an interruption.

A knock fell on the door, and the footman announced:

“His Grace of Andover, m’lady!”

The guilty pair sprang apart in the nick of time, she fiery red, he pale, but composed.

His Grace stood in the doorway, his quizzing glass raised inquiringly. His eyes went swiftly from one to the other and widened. He bowed elaborately.

“My dear Lavinia! Captain Lovelace, your very obedient!”

Lovelace returned the bow with much flourish.