“She has told me, Jacqueline, that Duke da Sestos has asked you to be his wife. She wishes you to consent. She believes that you have not refused him.”
Her color came and went. She drew in a little breath, and her brown eyes looked over at the mountains beyond Cadenabbia. Tears gathered in them and began to fall slowly down her cheeks.
“But it is not true,” I cried, and seized her hand. “It is impossible that you should have done that.”
“It is quite true,” she said almost impassively. “He has asked me to be his wife. I have encouraged him.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said. Good-by, dear Jacqueline.”
She caught my coat in her eagerness.
“Listen, Dick. It is because of that I telegraphed you. You must help me. I need you. Would you do something for me that was quite useless–that would give you infinite trouble–that would bring you no reward except my thanks?”
“I think it quite possible,” I said, smiling. “What is it?”
“It is so difficult to make you understand,” she cried, distressed.
“I will wait till to-morrow.”