"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."

"I _must_ see Miss St. Clair to-night."

"Impossible."

"I _must_ see Miss St. Clair. Find out for me when I can see her. I
will go with you," in a white heat of passion. (We had been alone for
some little time.)