"Because you love her. Her letters really bore you, only you won't admit it even to yourself."
"But Helena is really more brilliant than most people."
"Possibly; but I did not come out here to talk about Helena."
Magdaléna's fan was hanging at the end of a chain. She clutched at it, missed it, and pressed her hand against her heart, which was hammering.
He saw the motion, and took her hand in his. She glanced about wildly. She was in a whirl of terror of everything under heaven. Too dignified to wrest herself away and run, she gave him a swift glance of appeal, then bent her head. He dropped her hand.
"I would not frighten nor bother you for the world, but you know what I have wanted to say for days past. That, at least, can be no shock: you have known for a long while."
"I'd rather you didn't say it," she gasped.
"I intend to say it, nevertheless, and you will soon get used to it. Will you marry me?"
"Oh—I—suppose so—that is, if you want me to. Let us go back to the house."
"I have no intention of going back to the house for fully half an hour. Do you love me?"