"It seems.... He wants to marry you, Claire.... He came to me because ... it appears that is the custom in his country."
Claire felt the room whirling.
"Well, mother?"
"He is a kind man, Claire," she heard her mother say.
She went out into the hall. Danilo was standing calm and confident at the head of the stairs.
"Your mother ... has she told you?"
"Yes."
"You are not ready—is that it?"
"I...." She gave a startled look and fell back a trifle. Then more quietly she finished: "Let us go somewhere.... This.... I cannot talk to you here!"
They went down together ... out into the night. She wondered what she would say ... what was there to talk about?... This was the moment she had been waiting for all her life—the moment that every woman waited for ... and still it appeared that it was a matter for calm discussion. Perhaps the formality of Danilo's procedure had robbed the incident of its surge and sweep.... She did not know.... All she knew was that she was trembling.... Afraid?... Well, perhaps ... a trifle. Was it always so?