Part 3 (1/2)
”And she loves you very, very, very dearly and tenderly,” said Dolores, in a quick, breathless voice; ”and you are going to be married to her, and she will soon be your wife.”
Ashby said nothing, but sat looking strangely embarra.s.sed.
”You never mentioned her to us at Valencia,” continued Dolores.
”No,” said Ashby.
”And why not?” asked Dolores, who saw his confusion, but was eager to know the truth.
”I had not seen her,” said Ashby.
”You had not seen her,” repeated Dolores. ”Ah!”--she hesitated for a moment and then went on--”so you saw her afterward. And she loves you!”
These last words were spoken with indescribable tenderness and mournfulness. ”And--she--loves--you,” she repeated, in a voice that had sunk almost to a whisper; ”and she is to be your wife--the English girl!”
”Well,” said Ashby, making an effort to overcome his embarra.s.sment, ”it is--it is about time. The fact is, I--I did ask her to--to be my wife.”
”And she?”
”She? Well--she said she would, I think,” said Ashby, evasively.
”You think!” exclaimed Dolores.
”Well, you see, there's a difficulty.”
”A difficulty?”
”Yes. Her guardian will not consent.”
”But that is nothing,” said Dolores, in an animated tone. ”You must take her, and run away with her.”
Ashby looked at Dolores with a strange, eager, hungry gaze.
”But there's another objection,” said he.
”Objection? What is that?”
”I don't want to.”
”What?” asked Dolores, in surprise.
Ashby hesitated for a moment, and then said, with an effort,
”I thought before we left that I loved her; but since I have seen you again--I feel--that I do not.”
These words were spoken rapidly, in a low, feverish whisper. At first Dolores started as though she had been shot. Then she averted her face, and held up her hands deprecatingly.
”Ah,” said she, in a sad voice, ”that is all idle, idle, idle, foolish, foolish, foolish compliment, and nothing more. You must not say that again, or I will never forgive you--never, never!”