"My son," he said, "can you not persuade this lady to remain with us."
He looked up, my Andrea, and our eyes met; but on neither side was speech or movement.
The old man went on.
"Andrea, it is possible that we did wrong, your mother and I, in attempting to interfere with you in this matter. You must forgive us if we are slow to understand the new spirit of radicalism which, it seems, is the spirit of the times. Once before our wishes clashed; but, my son, I cannot bear to send you away in anger a second time. As for this lady, she knows how deeply we all respect her. Persuade her to forgive us, if indeed you can."
Andrea I saw was deeply moved; he shaded his eyes with his hand, and the tears flowed down my own cheeks unchecked.
"Well, Elsie, it is for you to decide." He spoke at last, coldly, in an off-hand manner.
I was lacking in pride, perhaps in dignity, for though I said nothing, I held out my hand.
"Are you quite sure you love me, Elsie?"
"Quite, quite sure, Andrea."