“I – love you!” Cyrilla whispered. “But – what will – Papa say?”
The words came to her lips without her really thinking about them and, even as she spoke, the door opened and the Duke came into the room.
One glance at his face told Cyrilla how angry he was and instinctively she moved a little nearer to the Marquis, as if for protection.
“Your behaviour, Fane, does not surprise me!” the Duke began scathingly. “It is what I might have expected.”
“You do not understand, Your Grace,” the Marquis replied. “May I have your permission to marry Cyrilla? We love each other and marriage is what we both want.”
“Marriage?” the Duke exclaimed. “So that is what you are offering her now! You were not prepared to offer her marriage before you were aware that she was my daughter.”
The Marquis took hi
