He, meanwhile, was sitting in his study, in a state of extreme agitation. On first seeing the lady enter the house, he had been startled without exactly knowing why. He recovered himself on seeing her depart, and was again excited when she came back. The idea that she might be coming up to his rooms flashed across his mind, but he immediately dismissed it as improbable. She must no doubt have come to call on one of the residents on the first or second floor, who were persons of fashion. Still, in spite of all reason, he could not be calm. When he heard the door-bell, he was aghast; he could hardly get so far as the ante-room, and before he could give the maid a sign, she had opened the door, compelling him to beat a hasty retreat. He was tempted to say he was not at home, even though the lady was in the sitting-room; but, after all, he made up his mind to go to her, reflecting that he had no rational motive for refusing.
Raimundo had seen very little of the world. His mother's friends had been few—relations and two or three families of acquaintance. He, on his part, had done nothing to extend the circle, and, as has been said, had formed no intimacies with any of his fellow-students, much less had he any familiarity with the public or private entertainments of the capital. His youth and early manhood had been happily spent at home, in studying and arranging his butterflies. He knew life only from books. At the same time Nature had bestowed on him a frank and simple temper, some ease of speech, and a certain dignity of manner, which amply made up for the polish and distinction produced by constant friction with the upper ranks of society.
He went into the drawing-room with perfect composure, nay, with a lurking sense of hostility roused by the lady's eccentric proceeding. He bowed low on entering. The situation was, in fact, so strange, that Clementina, in spite of her pride, her experience, and her indifference—it might almost be said her effrontery, was suddenly at a loss. It was only by an effort that she recovered her spirit.
"Here I am, you see," she said in a sharp tone, which was strangely inappropriate and discourteous.
"To what do I owe the honour of your visit?" replied Raimundo in a rather tremulous voice.
"Well—" she paused for a moment, "you owe it to the honour you do me of following me everywhere like my shadow, as you have been doing these past two months. Do you suppose that it can be agreeable to be haunted whenever I appear in the street? In short, you have made me quite nervous, and to avoid injury to my health I have taken the ridiculous step of coming up here to beg you to cease your pursuit. If you have anything interesting to say to me say it at once and have done."
She spoke the words impetuously, as feeling herself in a false position, and wishing to get out of it by an exaggerated display of annoyance.
Raimundo looked at her in amazement, and this vexed Clementina, and added to her vehemence.
"Señora, I am grieved to the soul to think that I should have offended you; nothing could be further from my intentions. If you could only know the feelings your face arouses in me!" he stammered out.
Clementina broke in: