Her clear blue eyes looked to him bluer than the sky itself.
With her cheek resting on one hand, she was listening thoughtfully
to the words of love he poured tremblingly into her ear. She wore the
muslin gown in which she had been dressed that last day at Ajaccio. From
beneath its folds peeped out a tiny foot, shod with black satin. Orso
told himself that he would be happy indeed if he might dare to kiss that
little foot--but one of Miss Lydia's hands was bare and held a daisy.
He took the daisy from her, and Lydia's hand pressed his, and then he
kissed the daisy, and then he kissed her hand, and yet she did not
chide him . . . and all these thoughts prevented him from paying
any attention to the road he was travelling, and meanwhile he trotted
steadily onward. For the second time, in his fancy, he was about to kiss
Miss Nevil's snow-white hand, when, as his horse stopped short, he very
nearly kissed its head, in stern reality. Little Chilina had barred his
way, and seized his bridle.
"Where are you going to, Ors' Anton'?" she said. "Don't you know your
enemy is close by?"
"My enemy!" cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a
delightful moment.
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