"Intimately!" said Don Miguel, with what seemed an irresistible impulse.
Then he checked his enthusiasm with a visible effort, and stammered with a return of his previous nervousness—
"That is . . . I . . ."
"Yes?" queried the Duke.
"That is the purport of my importunity, my lord," said the young man, springing to his feet and speaking once more in tones of noble candour. "I would have asked Your Grace that, since you do not know the Lady Ursula, since you have no wish to claim her hand, if some one else . . ."
"If the Lady Ursula honoured some one else than my unworthy self. . . . Is that your meaning, my lord?" queried Wessex, as Don Miguel had made a slight pause in his impetuous speech.
"If I . . ."
"You, my lord?"
"I would wish to know if I should be offending Your Grace?"
"Offending me?" cried Wessex joyfully. "Nay, my lord, why were you so long in telling me this gladsome news? . . . Offending me? . . . you have succeeded in taking a load from my conscience, my dear Marquis. So you love the Lady Ursula Glynde? . . . Ye heavens! what a number of circumlocutions to arrive at this simple little fact! You love her . . . she is very beautiful . . . and she loves you. Where did you first see her, my lord?"