“I take it for granted the girl who consents to marry me will consent because she wishes to be a Countess.” He drew closer to her—she looked her best in twilight hours, and he succeeded in putting as much tenderness into his voice as was necessary to enable so drawling and indifferent a person to create an impression of sentiment. “If I were walking here with the girl I wished to win, I’d say nothing of sentiment. I’d simply trust to the only thing I have that could possibly induce her to listen to me.”
She glanced shyly up at him—he thought her almost pretty.
“Do you think that would win her?” he asked in a low tone.
“I—don’t—know,” she replied slowly. Her commonplace voice had also been touched with the magic that had transformed her face.
“Won’t you think of it?”
“If you wish,” she murmured.
They went on in silence a few minutes, then she spoke in an attempt at her usual voice: “But we must turn back. I’ll have just time to dress for dinner.”
And he decided that he would say no more on the principal subject for several days. He thought he understood how to deal with American girls rather better now. “I’ll give her a chance to walk round the trap,” he thought. And then he reminded himself that it was hardly a trap—wasn’t she getting the better of the bargain? “She’s indulging in a luxury, while I’m after a desperate necessary. And, by Jove, it won’t be easy not to make a face, if I get it—with her.”