She had started and caught her breath; and now she was looking and listening, as though she doubted the evidence of her own eyes and ears.
He had taken her hand and was resetting the ring more firmly on the finger, from which, indeed, she had not quite withdrawn it.
"Do you believe me now, dear Bee?" he softly inquired.
"Believe you? Why, Ishmael, I never doubted your word in all my life. But—but I cannot realize it. I cannot bring it home to my heart yet. How is it possible it should be true? How is it possible you should choose me, when you might marry her?" said Bee, with large, wondering eyes.
"How is it possible, my darling one, that you should not know how much more lovely you are than any other girl, or woman, I have ever seen—except one."
"Except one, Ishmael?" she inquired, with a faint smile.
"Except the Countess of Hurstmonceux, who is almost as good and as beautiful as you. Bee, my darling, are you satisfied now?"
"Oh, Ishmael, I cannot realize it. I have been schooling my heart so long, so long, to resign you."
"So long? How long, my dearest?"
"Oh, ever since we heard that she was free. And that has been—let me see—why, indeed, it has been but a week. But oh, Ishmael, it seems to me that years and years have passed since my father told me to prepare for a disappointment."