"Bless her little heart, what is the child raving about? Whom dost thou mean, dear baby, by him?"
"Who should I mean, dearest uncle, but my cousin, this Prince Ferdinand. I need not be his wife. I—"
"Thy cousin, Prince Ferdinand!"
"I hate him—I abhor him—I utterly detest him! I never can love him! I never will be his wife! I never—"
"Hold, hold! not so fast; why thou romantic little recluse! thou hast lived alone too much by half. Thy little head is brim full of fancies. Thy tongue is running wild. Thou hatest him! Why what wouldst thou have better? Is he not all a woman could desire? Is he not young and—"
"Young!"
"And handsome, and—"
"Handsome!"
"And is he not a prince? And is he not heir to a powerful, wealthy ducal throne? And will he not take thee to court—the gay, beautiful court; and wilt thou not reign there a queen—a queen of beauty and joy and light—and ere long queen of the throne?"
"All that does not dazzle me, dearest uncle—for what are thrones and splendor where love is not? Oh! dear, dearest uncle, do not press this hated match upon me. Do not doom me to eternal sorrow. Do not—"