Lillian was not ordinarily a coward, and after a day’s reflection the situation grew intolerable to her, and she determined to give the count an opportunity to bring matters to a focus. Bitter as his reproaches might be, they could not be worse than the anticipation of them. She would face him and bear his words as best she might.
Evening therefore saw her upon the deck in the self-same spot where he had found her the evening before—waiting.
She waited long! Daylight waned and vanished. The crescent moon flashed out for an hour and then followed the sun below the horizon, leaving the big stars as sole lights in the firmament. She looked aft across the water to where the three lights of Ouro Preto’s yacht had burned night after night, and noted that they were closer than she had ever seen them before. Little by little the decks had grown empty as the passengers had slipped away to more congenial occupations than watching the white boiling spume of the wake and listening to the swish of the waves along the steamer’s sides. One or two soft-footed figures—stewards or sailors engaged in ships tasks—moved ghost-like beneath the awnings, but if any others were still on deck they were hidden in the shadows. For all that Lillian could see she was alone.
Four bells struck and still the count had not come. Lillian did not know whether to be glad or angry. On the one hand she was relieved to be spared what he might say; on the other she was woman enough to resent his neglect, as if he had found her further actions or words unimportant. When he did come at last she was in the mood for combat rather than apology.
He bowed as he came up, and wished her a good-evening. Then for a few moments he stood looking down at her in silence, not as if hesitating as to what he was to say, but rather as one acting in accordance with some set plan.
“I have come for my answer,” he said, at last, with a tremor in his voice. “Will you give it to me?”
“Your answer?” Amazement drove all other emotion from Lillian’s mind. Not thus had she expected Ouro Preto to address her.
“Yes!” Surprise, real or pretended, sounded in the Brazilian’s tones. “But, yes! I asked you to marry me last night and you ran away without answering. Ah! Senorita. You do not know what this day has been to me! One moment I hope! the next I despair. I love you, senorita. Will you not say that you too love me!”
Lillian’s thoughts whirled, aimless as the spray from the steamer’s bow. “But—but—” she gasped. “The Emperor! Your great plot! You—All of it.”
Ouro Preto stared. Then he laughed gently. “Por Dios! senorita!” he cried. “Have you not forgotten that—that bombast?”