"Why do you take the trouble to deny such things?"
She asked the question with a change of manner. Once more she leaned forward and her face softened wonderfully as she looked at him.
"Can you not guess?" he asked.
He was conscious of a very unusual emotion, not at all in harmony with the imaginary character he had chosen for himself, and which he generally maintained with considerable success. Maria Consuelo was one person when she leaned back in her chair, laughing or idly listening to his talk, or repulsing the insignificant declarations of devotion which were not even meant to be taken altogether in earnest. She was pretty then, attractive, graceful, feminine, a little artificial, perhaps, and Orsino felt that he was free to like her or not, as he pleased, but that he pleased to like her for the present. She was quite another woman to-day, as she bent forward, her tawny eyes growing darker and more mysterious every moment, her auburn hair casting wonderful shadows upon her broad pale forehead, her lips not closed as usual, but slightly parted, her fragrant breath just stirring the quiet air Orsino breathed. Her features might be irregular. It did not matter. She was beautiful for the moment with a kind of beauty Orsino had never seen, and which produced a sudden and overwhelming effect upon him.
"Do you not know?" he asked again, and his voice trembled unexpectedly.
"Thank you," she said softly and she touched his hand almost caressingly.
But when he would have taken it, she drew back instantly and was once more the woman whom he saw every day, careless, indifferent, pretty.
"Why do you change so quickly?" he asked in a low voice, bending towards her. "Why do you snatch your hand away? Are you afraid of me?"
"Why should I be afraid? Are you dangerous?"
"You are. You may be fatal, for all I know."