“I am very sorry you should have been exposed to this man’s gross insults, although they cannot touch you. Will you go to your room and leave him to me?”
“Signorina, what is it? what has he done?” asked Moroni, seizing her hands.
But the girl was speechless. Her eyes dilated, she was deadly pale, and looked like one who had received a heavy blow. Ibbetson, who was very much grieved, said a few words in Italian to Moroni.
“But it is impossible! Does he dare to reproach you—you! because your mother owes him some money! It should have been a great honour to him to have been so happy as to do her a little service. Signorina, carina,” cried the young fellow, with passionate entreaty in his voice, “I am rich, all that I have is yours!” His face was glowing, he pressed her hands to his lips; in the eagerness of his devotion he seemed to have forgotten that any others were in the room. “Only suffer me to act for you, I beseech of you!”
Trent came forward once more, and though his voice shook it had regained its old softness:—
“Bice!”
She turned away her head.
“I spoke hastily. Say one word.”
She remained silent, and Ibbetson turned sharply round.
“You had better go,” he said, in a low voice. “Why?” asked Trent, eyeing him sullenly,—