"Get up," she said. "Sit here, beside me--a little further--there. We
can talk better so."
"I cannot talk at all--"
"Without holding my hands?"
"Why should I not?"
"Because I ask you. Please, dear--"
She drew back on the lounge, raised herself a little and turned her face
to him. Again, as his eyes met hers, he leaned forward quickly, as
though he would leave his seat. But she checked him, by an imperative
glance and a gesture. He was unreasonable and had no right to be
annoyed, but something in her manner chilled him and pained him in a way
he could not have explained. When he spoke there was a shade of change
in the tone of his voice.
"The things you have told me do not influence me in the least," he said
with more calmness than he had yet shown. "What you believe to be the
most important reason is no reason at all to me. You are Count Spicca's
daughter. He is an old friend of my father--not that it matters very
materially, but it may make everything easier. I will go to him to-day
and tell him that I wish to marry you--"
"You will not do that!" exclaimed Maria Consuelo in a tone of alarm.
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