"Alas, was it not my foolish letter that brought you to this plight? And how nobly you defended me! How generous it was of you not to show the letter! If my father knew I had written to the Ambassador to save me from this dreadful marriage his anger against me would be even greater."
"Ah—it was that you wrote for?" cried Tony with unaccountable relief.
"Of course—what else did you think?"
"But is it too late for the Ambassador to save you?"
"From you?" A smile flashed through her tears. "Alas, yes." She drew back and hid her face again, as though overcome by a fresh wave of shame.
Tony glanced about him. "If I could wrench a bar out of that window—" he muttered.
"Impossible! The court is guarded. You are a prisoner, alas.—Oh, I must speak!" She sprang up and paced the room. "But indeed you can scarce think worse of me than you do already—"
"I think ill of you?"
"Alas, you must! To be unwilling to marry the man my father has chosen for me—"
"Such a beetle-browed lout! It would be a burning shame if you married him."