“That is too soon; you are impatient.”
“Of course I am,” said Beatrice. “Ought I not to be so? Have you not said that this concerns me? and is not all my imagination aroused in the endeavor to form a conjecture as to what it may be?”
She spoke so earnestly that Langhetti was moved, and looked still more undecided.
“When will you tell me?”
“Soon, perhaps,” he replied, with some hesitation.
“Why not now?”
“Oh no, I must assure myself first about some things.”
“To-morrow, then.”
He hesitated.
“Yes,” said she; “it must be to-morrow. If you do not, I shall think that you have little or no confidence in me. I shall expect it to-morrow.”