He fixed his monocle savagely in his eye and strode rapidly toward the refreshment hall. Carmen went in silence. She heard his murmur of gratification when his gaze lighted upon the chairs and table which he had evidently arranged previously in anticipation of this tête-à-tête.
“Ye know,” he finally began, after they were seated and he had sat some minutes staring at the girl, “ye know, you’re deucedly clevah, Miss Carmen! I told mother so to-day, and this time she had to agree. And that about your being an Inca princess––ye know, I could see that from the very first day I met you. Mighty romantic, and all that, don’t ye know!”
“Indeed, yes!” replied the girl, her thought drifting back to distant Simití.
“And all about that mine you own in South America––and Mrs. Hawley-Crowles making you her heiress––and all that––bah Jove! It’s––it’s romantic, I tell you!” His head continued to nod emphasis to his thought long after he finished speaking.
“Ye know,” he finally resumed, drawing a gold-crested case from a pocket and lighting a monogrammed cigarette, “a fellow can always tell another who is––well, who belongs to the aristocracy. Mrs. Ames, ye know, said she had some suspicions about you. But I could see right off that it was because she was jealous. Mother and I knew what you were the minute we clapped eyes on you. That’s because we belong to the nobility, ye know.”
He smoked in silence for some moments. Carmen was far, far away.
“Bah Jove, Miss Carmen, I’m going to say it!” he suddenly blurted. “Mother wanted me to marry Lord Cragmont’s filly; but, bah Jove, I say, I’m going to marry you!”
Carmen now heard, and she quickly sat up, her eyes wide and staring. “Marry me!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” he went on. “Oh, it’s all right. You’re a princess, ye know, and so you’re in our class. I’m not one of the kind that hands out a title to the red-nosed daughter of any American 149 pork packer just to get her money. Not me! The girl I marry has got to be my equal.”
“Oh!” murmured the astonished Carmen.