She flushed deeply. “I wish to avoid him,” she said, after a little pause; “I tell you frankly, he has lately given me much cause for annoyance. I will not be persecuted by his attentions; and as I before said to you, I am often afraid of him. Under your protection I know I am quite safe, but I cannot always enjoy that—”
The moment had come. I advanced a step or two.
“Why not?” I said. “It rests entirely with yourself.”
She started and half rose from her chair—her work dropped from her hands.
“What do you mean, conte?” she faltered, half timidly, yet anxiously; “I do not understand!”
“I mean what I say,” I continued in cool hard tones, and stooping, I picked up her work and restored it to her; “but pray do not excite yourself! You say you cannot always enjoy my protection; it seems to me that you can—by becoming my wife.”
“Conte!” she stammered. I held up my hand as a sign to her to be silent.
“I am perfectly aware,” I went on in business-like accents—“of the disparity in years that exists between us. I have neither youth, health, or good looks to recommend me to you. Trouble and bitter disappointment have made me what I am. But I have wealth which is almost inexhaustible—I have position and influence—and beside these things”—and here I looked at her steadily, “I have an ardent desire to do justice to your admirable qualities, and to give you all you deserve. If you think you could be happy with me, speak frankly—I cannot offer you the passionate adoration of a young man—my blood is cold and my pulse is slow—but what I can do, I will!”
Having spoken thus, I was silent—gazing at her intently. She paled and flushed alternately, and seemed for a moment lost in thought—then a sudden smile of triumph curved her mouth—she raised her large lovely eyes to mine, with a look of melting and wistful tenderness. She laid her needle-work gently down, and came close up to me—her fragrant breath fell warm on my cheek—her strange gaze fascinated me, and a sort of tremor shook my nerves.
“You mean,” she said, with a tender pathos in her voice—“that you are willing to marry me, but that you do not really love me?”