"But you can't have me, Sir Tilton, I belong to the heir of the house for the last dance," she said, wilfully misconstruing his meaning, so gaining time, lost to him.
"You are cruel, you gave up my dance for Trevalyon; you won't give up
De Hauteville's for me."
"Eau Clair made me promise faithfully," and with pretty persuasiveness had her way to the ball-room. "Drop all sentiment, Sir Tilton, I like you best, your own gay care for naught self; see," she added, kindly as they neared the music and revellers, "see the gay butterflies are as chic (even if their wings have lost some of their bloom); the scent of the rose as sweet as at the first dance; be your own gay rollicking self once more."
"I cannot! for my star of the night I love you; don't start, it is no new story to you that a man's heart lies crushed at your feet. Since it was my fate to meet you, your face is ever before me. I followed you here, running away from Haughton Hall. I have dreaded Trevalyon as a rival, as well as others, but he in especial. Oh! my heart's light, say you are not going to give your loveliness up to a man they say has a hid—well, well, no more of him, only don't shrink from me, I shan't name him; but my heart only beats for you, heaven." And Vaura feels his whole frame tremble as he says feverishly: "pity me, and make her love me; and now what have you to say to me, you can make my life what you will; for heaven's sake give me hope."
"Poor fellow, your words grieve me more than I can say; I had no idea of anything of the sort; you have my warmest friendship.
"Don't; don't speak of friendship!" he said excitedly, when it is you, you with your warm heart-beats, your love I want; great heavens, why did you ever cross my path?"
"I shall regret the doing so, if it has caused you pain, Sir Tilton, but in time you will forget me."
"You are cruel; and speak as a surgeon to a physically sick man."
"My words are meant kindly, Sir Tilton, though they seem as the lance to the sick man."
"Men say women are cruel, so they are; do you know, for your beauty I have played the traitor to another; but heaven help me," and poor little Sir Tilton groaned; "I could not marry her while I was free to ask you to be my wife, and now I am just good for nothing, and never shall be; God help me!"