Cross with her! I certainly had no intention of being cross, but I had begun to think that she would not care what my humour might be. “Maria,” I said, taking hold of her hand.
“No, John, do not do that. It is in the church, you know.”
“Maria, will you answer me a question?”
“Yes,” she said, very slowly, looking dawn upon the stone slabs beneath our feet.
“Do you love me?”
“Love you!”
“Yes, do you love me? You were to give me an answer here, in Seville, and now I ask for it. I have almost taught myself to think that it is needless to ask; and now this horrid mischance—”
“What do you mean?” said she, speaking very quickly.
“Why this miserable blunder about the marquis’s button! After that I suppose—”
“The marquis! Oh, John, is that to make a difference between you and me?—a little joke like that?”