She smiled somewhat acidly, and yet not so forbiddingly as to daunt him.
"If we are yours what is there left for me?" she asked.
"Ah," the Count sighed, with a shake of his head, "dat Engleesh—"
"Never mind," she interrupted, "I understand that if I do marry you I get the name and not much else."
"But de name!" he cried with fervor. "De Shimbowski name! Oh, eet ees dat de name weell be older dan dere was any mans een dees country."
"I dare say that is true," she responded, smiling more pleasantly. "My sentiments for the name are warm enough."
"De sentiments of de esteemfully Mees Wentsteele ees proud for me," he declared, rising to bow. "Ees eet dat we weell marry wid me? Mees Wentsteele ees more detracteeve for me wid her dot dan Mees Endeecott. Eet ees mooch more detracteeve."
"Well," Miss Wentstile said, rising also, "I thought I would see how the idea struck you. I haven't made up my mind. My friends would say I was an old fool, but I can please myself, thank heaven."
The Count took her hand and bowed over it with all his courtly grace, kissing it respectfully.
"Ah," he told her, echoing her words with unfortunate precision, "one old fool ees so heavenly keend!"