“Be seated, and speak on, Señor,” she said, sinking into a chair, while he too sat down, but still in front of the door.
“Señora,” he said, “my business in this country is finished, and in a few days I sail hence for Spain.” And he hesitated a moment.
“I trust that your voyage will be pleasant,” said Margaret, not knowing what else to answer.
“I trust so also, Señora, since I have come to ask you if you will share it. Listen, before you refuse. To-day I saw your father, and begged your hand of him. He would give me no answer, neither yea nor nay, saying that you were your own mistress, and that I must seek it from your lips.”
“My father said that?” gasped Margaret, astonished, then bethought her that he might have had reasons for speaking so, and went on rapidly, “Well, it is short and simple. I thank you, Señor; but I stay in England.”
“Even that I would be willing to do for your sake Señora, though, in truth, I find it a cold and barbarous country.”
“If so, Señor d’Aguilar, I think that I should go to Spain. I pray you let me pass.”
“Not till you have heard me out, Señora, when I trust that your words will be more gentle. See now I am a great man in my own country. Although it suits me to pass here incognito as plain Señor d’Aguilar I am the Marquis of Morella, the nephew of Ferdinand the King, with some wealth and station, official and private. If you disbelieve me, I can prove it to you.”
“I do not disbelieve,” answered Margaret indifferently, “it may well be so; but what is that to me?”
“Then is it not something, Lady, that I, who have blood-royal in my veins, should seek the daughter of a merchant to be my wife?”