“Now then to see who is the next Duc de Marlier!” whispered Linton in Rica's ear. “Let us begin.”
“One word with you, Linton,” whispered Rica; “don't bet high, it distracts my attention,—make a mere game of amusement, for this will be a hard struggle, and it must be the last.”
“So I perceive,” rejoined Linton; “events are coming fast; we must be off ere the tide overtake us.”
“The game, the game!” cried Frobisher, striking the table with his rake.
“And Maritaña?” whispered Linton, holding Rica by the arm.
The other grew lividly pale, and his lip quivered as he said, “Is this the time, Linton—”
“It is the very time,” rejoined the other, determinedly, “and I will have my answer now. You cannot equivocate with me.”
“I do not seek to do so. I have told you always what I tell you still—I cannot coerce her.”
“There will be no need; this dukedom will do the business. I know her well—better than you do. See, they are watching us yonder. Say the word at once—it is agreed.”
“Hear me, Linton—”