"An obstacle, I grant, but not an insuperable one. My uncle married an English lady, a Protestant, and they have been very happy together."
"But I think there is another man," I stammered, surprised at finding my outposts carried so easily.
"You do not mean to say that she is compromised with any man?" almost fiercely.
"I do not know what meaning you attach to that word," for the count's imperfect French was not always intelligible. "There is a young man, the son of a neighbor, who has admired her a long time."
"Oh, he admires her?" with a curl of the exquisite lips, as if to say, "Who does not?"
"But I think she may like him a little."
"Why do you torture me so? Tell me at once that they are betrothed," cried he, pale with concentrated anger.
He thought she had trifled with him, I knew instantly, but quietly said, "I cannot tell you exactly in what relation they stand to each other, but I think Miss St. Clair would if she found an opportunity to speak with you."
"You do not know how I have tried to make opportunities. I go everywhere, hoping to see you, and I have never met you—not once. Won't you ask her to come down to-night?" coaxingly, like a child.
"Not to-night: it is too late."