Harley, who had now recovered from the first effect of her beauty, and
who regarded her as men of his years and character are apt to regard
ladies in their teens, as more child than woman, suffered himself to be
amused by her perplexity; for it was in his nature that the graver and
more mournful he felt at heart, the more he sought to give play and whim
to his spirits.

"Indeed, Signorina," said he, demurely, "you insisted then on placing one
of those fair hands in mine; the other (forgive me the fidelity of my
recollections) was affectionately thrown around my neck."

"Signor!" again exclaimed Violante; but this time there was anger in her
voice as well as surprise, and nothing could be more charming than her
look of pride and resentment.

Harley smiled again, but with so much kindly sweetness, that the anger
vanished at once, or rather Violante felt angry with herself that she was
no longer angry with him. But she had looked so beautiful in her anger,
that Harley wished, perhaps, to see her angry again. So, composing his
lips from their propitiatory smile, he resumed gravely,

"Your flatterers will tell you, Signorina, that you are much improved
since then, but I liked you better as you were; not but what I hope to
return some day what you then so generously pressed upon me."

"Pressed upon you!---I? Signor, you are under some strange mistake."

"Alas! no; but the female heart is so capricious and fickle! You
pressed it upon me, I assure you. I own that I was not loath to accept
it."