"In that case your opinion will yield."
"I doubt that. I have my plans, my needs, my tastes; of these father can know nothing."
They were silent rather long; during this time Malvina raised her eyes to her daughter repeatedly, with the intent to say something, but she was unable, or at least she hesitated. At last she inquired in irresolute, almost timid, tones:
"Irene, do you love him?"
"Do I love the baron?"
These words coming from the lips of the young girl expressed immense astonishment.
"If Baron Emil should hear that question he would be the first to call it Arcadian or great-grandfatherly." And she laughed. "That is one of those things which do not exist, or which, at least, are changeable, temporary, dependent on the state of the nerves and the imagination. I have a cool imagination and calm nerves. I can do without painted pots."
As these words came slowly and coldly from the lips of her daughter, Malvina straightened herself, and her face was covered with a faint blush. She had preserved the rare, and at her age even wonderful, faculty of blushing.
"Ira!" cried she, "I hear these opinions not for the first time, and they give me such pain!"
She clasped her hands.