"Then begin," she commands somewhat imperiously; the very insolence of
her air only gives an additional touch to her extreme beauty and fires
his ardor.

"You desire me to begin?" he asks unsteadily.

"If you wish it."

"Do you wish it?"

"I desire nothing more intensely than to get this rehearsal over," she
replies impatiently.

"You take no pains indeed to hide your scorn of me," says Dynecourt
bitterly.

"I regret it, if I have at any time treated you with incivility,"
returns Florence, with averted eyes and with increasing coldness. "Yet
I must always think that, for whatever has happened, you have only
yourself to blame."

"Is it a crime to love you?" he demands boldly.

"Sir," she exclaims indignantly, and raising her beautiful eyes to his
for a moment, "I must request you will never speak to me of love. There
is neither sympathy nor common friendliness between us. You are well
aware with what sentiments I regard you."

"But, why am I alone to be treated with contempt?" he asks, with sudden
passion. "All other men of your acquaintance are graciously received by