"'Smatter, Zaly?" he said, merrily, not thinking anything was really troubling her.
"Shell shock," said Van Reypen, to save Azalea the necessity of replying. "She's had a hard day of it, and now she's not to be bothered to talk, if she doesn't want to."
Azalea gave him a grateful look, and under the influence of his gentle kindliness, and mild raillery, she partly recovered her poise, and became almost like her own gay self again.
Much later in the evening, Van Reypen drew her away from the rest and led her to a secluded corner of the great piazza, where he had her alone.
"Now, my princess,—my beloved,—you are to tell me the answer to my plea. Tell me, Azalea,—may I take you to myself? Will you be my very own?"
"I can't say yes, Phil," she replied, softly, the tears gathering in her brown eyes. "I—oh, I thought I could tell you the truth,—but I can't,—I can't! I—I love you too much!"
"You've answered me!" cried Van Reypen, his eyes shining with gladness, "if you love me,—nothing else matters! And you can't love me 'too much'! I want all there is of your love,—your dear love! Is it really mine?"
"It's really yours, as far as it's in my power to give it,—but," and Azalea's face grew very sad, "I can't give it to you,—out of consideration of your rights. I can't love you, Philip, I mustn't let myself even think of it!"
"Don't talk nonsense, you blessed child,—you've settled it all when you say you love me! Oh, Azalea, I'm so glad, and proud and happy!"
Azalea gave a start as his arms closed round her. "No!" she cried, "no, dear, don't! oh, please don't!"