Captain Jay appeared to be counting the thousand pinnacles of the church. “I think you really must be right,” he remarked at last.
“There you are!” cried Rose Tramore, and walked rapidly away.
He caught up with her, he laid his hand upon her arm to stay her. “If you’re going to Venice, let me go to Venice with you!”
“You don’t even understand my condition.”
“I’m sure you’re right, then: you must be right about everything.”
“That’s not in the least true, and I don’t care a fig whether you’re sure or not. Please let me go.”
He had barred her way, he kept her longer. “I’ll go and speak to your mother myself!”
Even in the midst of another emotion she was amused at the air of audacity accompanying this declaration. Poor Captain Jay might have been on the point of marching up to a battery. She looked at him a moment; then she said: “You’ll be disappointed!”
“Disappointed?”
“She’s much more proper than grandmamma, because she’s much more amiable.”