John looked at her, his blue eyes bold.
"That is an invitation which I am terribly tempted to accept," he said, in a voice of unconcealed emotion, of patent meaning; and beneath his bold gaze, her dark eyes dropped, while I think a blush faintly swept her cheeks. "And first of all," he added, "pray express to Frau Brandt my grateful thanks for it—and let me thank you also for your kindness in conveying it. If, in spite of my temptation, I don't accept it, that will be for a very special reason, and one quite unconnected with my 'lesson.'"
Maria Dolores probably knew her danger. She turned, and began to walk backwards, towards the point where you can pass from the cloisters, through the great porte-cochère, into the garden, and so on to the pavilion beyond the clock. She probably knew her danger; but she was human, but she was a woman. Besides, she had reached the porte-cochère, and thus commanded a clear means of escape. So, coming to a standstill here, "What is the very special reason?" she asked, in a low voice, keeping her eyes from his.
His were bolder than ever. Infinite admiration of her burned in them, infinite delight in her, desire for her; at the same time a kind of angry hopelessness darkened them, and a kind of bitter amusement, as of one amused at his own sad plight.
"I wish I were rich," he exclaimed, irritably, between his teeth.
"Oh? Is that the very special reason?" asked she, with two notes of laughter.
"No," said he, "but it has a connection with it. You see, I'm in love."
"Yes," said she. "I remember your telling me so."
"Well, I wish I were rich," said he. "Then I might pluck up courage to ask the woman I love to be my wife."
"Money isn't everything here below," said she. "I have your own word for that."