Luckily, however, it was nearly dark, and his altered demeanour was not observed by his companion to its fullest extent. She, however, saw that he was moved and greatly disconcerted.
“I cannot believe it possible,” he repeated.
“He is betrothed to Theresa,” said Madame Trieste. “The marriage will take place three months hence; all has been arranged and definitely settled.”
“And, Mademoiselle Theresa,” stammered out his lordship, “does—does she love him?”
Through the increasing darkness the young nobleman could see that the French mother shook her head sadly.
“Does she love this man, madame?” cried Ethalwood, in a more imperative tone.
“No, I do not believe she does,” was the answer to this query. “But she esteems him, and feels for him a strong friendship,” added madame.
“Oh, indeed.”
“Yes, I hope and trust she does.”
“But why do you give her to him?”