“Tired so soon, Babie? Or in a pet because I cannot change myself into a thistledown and float about with you, like Manuel and Pauline?”
“Neither; I was only wishing that you loved me as he loves her, and hoping he would never tire of her, they are so fond and charming now. How long have you known them—and where?”
“I shall have no peace until I tell you. I passed a single summer with them in a tropical paradise, where we swung half the day in hammocks, under tamarind and almond trees; danced half the night to music, of which this seems but a faint echo; and led a life of luxurious delight in an enchanted climate, where all is so beautiful and brilliant that its memory haunts a life as pressed flowers sweeten the leaves of a dull book.”
“Why did you leave it then?”
“To marry you, child.”
“That was a regretful sigh, as if I were not worth the sacrifice. Let us go back and enjoy it together.”
“If you were dying for it, I would not take you to Cuba. It would be purgatory, not paradise, now.”
“How stern you look, how strangely you speak. Would you not go to save your own life, Gilbert?”
“I would not cross the room to do that, much less the sea.”
“Why do you both love and dread it? Don't frown, but tell me. I have a right to know.”