Roderic's step quickened as he hastened to meet her now faltering advance.
Naturally enough he smiled pleasantly—why not, under such conditions?
Alas! that one's motives may be misconstrued—that a fever raging in the heart may distort even the most common-place action.
"Ah! you have relented—you will not tear yourself away so soon—you have thought of something else that may have an importance bearing upon our plans—plans that if properly carried out mean happiness for both of us. Yes, I rejoice to see you return, as I was in something of a dilemma and perhaps you can help me out."
He had extended his hand impulsively but she refused to see it.
"You are not angry, senorita—I have not offended you in any way, I trust: I should never forgive myself if it were so," he said.
Perhaps the anxiety in his tone was strong—at any rate she seemed to tremble with half suppressed emotion and shrank back.
Roderic became more impressed and concerned.
"You do not speak—you are offended, clown that I am to have said or done something unwittingly that has hurt your feelings. Senorita, pray pardon me—restore me to your favor, I beg."
While he was thus apologizing, for what he himself did not have the least idea, Roderic could not refrain from thoughts of an altogether different nature, and which must have run something in this vein: