“Your wife!” she echoed, snatching her hand away. “Are you mad?”
“With love of thee—yes!”
“Do not touch me, sir. How dare you insult me!”
“Insult!” said Caliphronas, starting as if he were stung. “What do you mean, girl? Is the offer of a man’s heart an insult?”
“You are surely not in earnest,” said the girl, much perplexed what to say. “I had no idea you loved me!”
“I am in earnest, and I do love you,” declared Caliphronas with fiery energy, coming so close to her that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “You must have seen my passion long since. I want you to be my wife—your father and I have settled it between us.”
It was the worst speech that he could have made, for Helena, with a cry of rage, pushed him fiercely back, and stood before him with clinched hands, her eyes bright with indignation.
“How dare you! how dare you! Am I not to be consulted in the matter—do you think I will allow myself to be handed over to you like a slave? Never! I would rather die! I will not be your wife! I refuse to listen to you!”
“But you do not understand,” said Caliphronas, rather crestfallen at this sudden outburst of anger.
“I do understand. You have spoken to my father, and he has permitted you to ask me to be your wife, but, as to its being settled—how dare you! I will not be your wife! Don’t you dare to suggest such a thing to me!”