Listen, Orsino--be reasonable, listen to
me--"
"I will try and listen."
But Maria Consuelo did not speak at once. Possibly she was trying to
collect her thoughts.
"What have you to say, dearest?" asked Orsino at length. "I will try to
understand."
"You must understand. I will make it all clear to you and then you will
see it as I do."
"And then--what?"
"And then we must part," she said in a low voice.
Orsino said nothing, but shook his head incredulously.
"Yes," repeated Maria Consuelo, "we must not see each other any more
after this. It has been all my fault. I shall leave Rome and not come
back again. It will be best for you and I will make it best for me."
"You talk very easily of parting."
"Do I? Every word is a wound. Do I look as though I were indifferent?"
Orsino glanced at her pale face and tearful eyes.
"No, dear," he said softly.
"Then do not call me heartless. I have more heart than you think--and it
is breaking. And do not say that I do not love you. I love you better
than you know--better than you will be loved again when you are
older--and happier, perhaps.
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