"You cannot--but I thank you, dear," said Maria Consuelo.
He was standing close beside her. She took his hand and tenderly touched
it with her lips. He started and drew it back, for no woman had ever
kissed his hand.
"You must not do that!" he exclaimed, instinctively.
"And why not, if I please?" she asked, raising her eyebrows with a
little affectionate laugh.
"I am not good enough to kiss your hand, darling--still less to let you
kiss mine. Never mind--we were talking--where were we?"
"You were saying--" But he interrupted her.
"What does it matter, when I love you so, and you love me?" he asked
passionately.
He knelt beside her as she lay on the lounge and took her hands, holding
them and drawing her towards him. She resisted and turned her face away.
"No--no! It matters too much--let me go, it only makes it worse!"
"Makes what worse?"
"Parting--"
"We will not part. I will not let you go!"
But still she struggled with her hands and he, fearing to hurt them in
his grasp, let them slip away with a lingering touch.
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