They went out on to the terrace, passing through the Refectory, now thick with smoke and scintillating with beer-steins.
“You say that you will never marry,” he said again, as they encircled the base of Huss’ Tower, “and I tell you that I also have the idea to never marry. But—”
He paused again, just by that bit of the old monastery wall which extends out towards the bathing-houses.
“But if—if,” he emphasized the monosyllable with marked emphasis,—“if I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”
Rosina did not stop for an instant’s consideration.
“I should say ‘no.’”
He received the blow full in his face.
“Why?” he asked.
“I do not want another husband. I don’t like husbands. They are all alike.”
“How?”