"Reflect for a moment," said she, assuming a tone argumentative. "Consider the embarrassment of my position. You ask me to be your wife. But if I consent, you give up your only chance of regaining your Italian patrimony—do you not? But a man should at least know what he is giving up. You should know what your patrimony consists of. You should know, as the saying is, what you 'stand to lose.' Therefore you must go to Sampaolo, and see it with your own eyes. Isola Nobile, Castel San Guido, the Palazzo Rosso, Villa Formosa—you must see them all, with their gardens and their pictures and their treasures. And then you must ask yourself in cold blood, 'Is that woman I left at Craford really worth it?'"
She smiled. But, as he made to speak, her hand commanded silence.
"No, no," she said. "You have not seen them yet, so you can't tell. When you have seen them, you will very likely thank me for leaving you free to-day. You will think, with a shudder, 'Good heavens, what a narrow escape! What if she had taken me at my word?' Then you can offer yourself to your cousin, and let us hope she 'll accept you."
Again, as he made to speak, her hand silenced him.
"But if," she went on, "if, by any chance, you should not thank me,—if, in cold blood, with your eyes open, you should decide that the woman you left at Craford is worth it,—why, then you can return to her, and renew your suit. And she'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you know what's she costing you."
Anthony stood over her, looked down upon her.
"This is the most awful nonsense," he said, with a grave half-laugh.
"It is my condition," said she. "You must start for Sampaolo to-morrow morning."
"You 'll never really send me on such a fool's errand," he protested.
"You have promised," said she.