“Leave out the ‘Mr.’ from this time, sweet Drusa. What were you going to say?”
“I was about to ask you, please, not to make me so many presents.”
“Oh, is that it? Why not?”
“Because—I love you. And—I only want you to give me your love——”
“I know all that, my pet. But let your conscience be at rest. Every thing I seem to give you, as well as every thing you have of your own is really not yours, but mine, because you yourself are mine.”
“Is that so?” she smilingly inquired.
“Yes.”
“Then so I would have it!”
While they talked they left the room, he leading the way down the stairs, to the little drawing-room.
This was a very elegant apartment, fitted up in crimson and gold curtains, chairs and sofas, rich mirrors and rare paintings, and recherché articles of virtu. At the lower end of the room a heavy curtain of crimson satin damask, with gold bullion fringe and gold cord and tassels, hung from the ceiling to floor.