“But to come back; you really think she does not care for him?”
“Not more than for you; and I may be pardoned for the simile, having seen your meeting. But let me give you the news of our own fête. Saturday is the day fixed; and you must be quite well,—I insist upon it. Miss Dashwood has promised to come,—no small concession; for after all she has never once been here since the day you frightened her. I can’t help laughing at my blunder,—the two people I had promised myself should fall desperately in love with each other, and who will scarcely meet.”
“But I trusted,” said I, pettishly, “that you were not disposed to resign your own interest in me?”
“Neither was I,” said she, with an easy smile, “except that I have so many admirers. I might even spare to my friends; though after all I should be sorry to lose you, I like you.”
“Yes,” said I half bitterly, “as girls do those they never intend to care for; is it not so?”
“Perhaps, yes, and perhaps—But is it going to rain? How provoking! and I have ordered my horse. Well, Signor Carlos, I leave you to your delightful newspaper, and all the magnificent descriptions of battles and sieges and skirmishes of which you seem doomed to pine without ceasing. There, don’t kiss my hand twice; that’s not right.”
“Well, let me begin again—”
“I shall not breakfast with you any more. But tell me, am I to order a costume for you in Lisbon; or will you arrange all that yourself? You must come to the fête, you know.”
“If you would be so very kind.”
“I will, then, be so very kind; and once more, adios.” So saying, and with a slight motion of her hand, she smiled a good-by, and left me.