He was gazing out across the water and so did not see the sudden wave of colour which flooded the woman’s face, and then receded, leaving it deadly white. She sat very still, as though holding herself with iron bands, and turned her head away, and took a slow, deep, tremulous breath. Then she touched her handkerchief to her lips, and when she took it away, there was a tiny stain of blood upon it.
“Will she consent?” she asked in a muffled voice.
“I am not sure,” said the baron; “it is there I am baffled. It is there I count upon you.”
“Yes—go on.”
“Her mother does all she can to persuade her, but unfortunately it seems that in America girls are permitted to choose for themselves.”
“Yes,” said the countess, a little breathlessly; “what does she say?”
“She says very little; she sits and listens, looking very far away. She is an unusual girl; she could be charming if she wished. For some reason, she does not wish. It is strange in one so young. Also she has brains—perhaps her father’s; certainly not her mother’s.”
“The alliance has been proposed to her then?”
“Yes; it is arranged. It waits only upon her consent. And she hesitates. It is very strange. There seem to be two forces at work in her, one urging her on, one holding her back. It is not ambition that urges her on, I am sure of that; and it is not love—the prince leaves her indifferent. But whatever it is, I feel that it will win—unless something happens.”
“What can happen?” asked the countess.