“You!” She looked somewhat amused, undisturbed, at him, making him feel more disconcerted, more baffled than ever.
“I am serious,” he said, almost with impatience, taking her hand and pressing it somewhat tightly to keep her attention alive—“I want you to think of what I say. You are dependent here, dependent upon your aunt, who some time or other may feel you a burden; and I could make you rich, and put everything at your feet. You, who are a poor girl, would become a great lady if you married me, Innocent. You would find it pleasant in many ways. You should do what you like, and have what you like, without asking any one’s leave. Yes, and go anywhere—to Pisa if you pleased. I would do whatever you wished, and spend my life in trying to please you—for I am very fond of you, Innocent,” said the man of the world in a tone of appeal which was almost a whimper.
What a curious scene it was: she so passive, so unexcited, not understanding nor caring to understand; and he, the wise man, agitated, perplexed, anxious. He had meant that this should be a very different scene. He had meant to put forth his hand and take her to himself, as he might have taken a flower; but this no longer seemed so easy as he looked upon the blankness of her beautiful, wistful, unresponsive face.
“Have you no answer to give me?” he said, almost humbly, holding her slender hand between his.
“I don’t think I understand,” said Innocent slowly. “I am—stupid, as the servants say. Nelly would go, perhaps, if you were to ask her.”
“But it is you I want—you, Innocent! Try to understand—I want you to marry me—to be my wife.”
“Like Frederick and—his wife?” asked Innocent, with a shudder.
“Pshaw—like any man and his wife,” he said. “Innocent, you are not so foolish as you try to make people think. You must be able to understand this. Do you like me? Tell me that first.”
“Yes,” she said calmly, looking at him, grave, and curious, and unabashed.
“Then will you marry me? Tell me yes or no.”