He stopped walking and took one big step that brought him to me.
"You do not?"
"Of course not," said I; "not in that way."
Mr. van Buren caught both my hands, and pressed them so tightly, that I couldn't help giving a tiny squeak.
"Ah, I have hurt you!" he cried, and a strange expression came into his eyes. At least, it was strange that it should be for me, instead of Freule Menela, for it was almost—but no, I must have been mistaken, of course, in thinking it was like that. Anyway, it was a thrilling expression, and made my heart beat as fast as if I were frightened, though I think that wasn't exactly the feeling. I couldn't take my eyes away from his for a minute. We looked straight at each other; then, as if he couldn't resist, he kissed my hands one after the other—not with polite little Dutch kisses, but eager and desperate. As he did it, he gave a kind of groan, and before I could speak he muttered, "Forgive me!" as he rushed out of the room.
He must have almost run against Mr. Starr, for the next instant the "Mariner" (as Jonkheer Brederode calls him) came in, dripping wet.
There was I, all pink and trembling, and my voice did sound odd as I quavered out, "Where's Nell?"
"Gone to her room," said Mr. Starr, looking hard at me with his brilliant, whimsical eyes. "I was to tell you——"
With that, I burst into tears.
"Good gracious, poor angel! What is the matter?" he exclaimed, coming closer.