Part 5 (1/2)
”How you frightened me!”
”And it was evidently not the first, this morning.”
She sank into a seat, indicated another to him, away from the window, removed her hat and leaned back looking at him.
”No, you are not,” she said at last. ”But account for yourself, Monsieur Loris! The sun is not yet half way on its course, yet you are actually awake, and visible to humanity--it looks serious.”
”It is,” he agreed, smiling at her, yet a trifle nervous in his regard. ”I have taken advantage of the only hour out of the twenty when there would be a chance of seeing you alone. So I made an errand--and I am here.”
”And--?”
”And I have determined that, after the fas.h.i.+on of the Americans or the English, I shall no longer ask the intervention of a third person. I decided on it last night before I left here. I have no t.i.tle to offer you--you coldest and most charming of women, but I shall have fame; you will have no reason to be ashamed of the name of Dumaresque. Put me on probation, if you like, a year, two years!--only--”
”No; no!” she said pleadingly, putting out her hands with a slight repellant gesture. ”It is not to be thought of, Monsieur Loris, Maman has told you! Twice has the same reply been given. I really cannot allow you to continue this suppliance. I like you too well to be angry with you, but--”
”I shall be content with the liking--”
”But I should not!” she declared, smilingly. ”I have my ideals, if you please, Monsieur. Marriage should mean love. It is only matrimony for which liking is the foundation. I do not approve of matrimony.”
”Pardon; that is the expression of the romance lover--the school girl.
But that I know you have lived the life of a nun I should fear some one had been before me, some one who realized those ideals of yours, and that instead of studying the philosophies of life, you have been a student of the philosophy of love.”
He spoke lightly--half laughingly, but the flush of pink suffusing her throat and brow checked his smile. He could only stare.
She arose hastily and walked the length of the room. When she turned the color was all gone, but her eyes were softly s.h.i.+ning.
”All philosophy falls dead when the heart speaks,” she said, as she resumed her chair; ”and now, Monsieur Loris, I mean to make you my father confessor, for I know no better way of ending these periodical proposals of yours, and at the same time confession might--well--it might not be without a certain benefit to myself.” He perceived that while she had a.s.sumed an air of raillery, there was some substance back of the mocking shadow.
”I shall feel honored by your confidence, Marquise,” he was earnest enough in that.
”And when you realize that there is--some one else--will you then resume your former role of friend?”
”I shall try. Who is the man?”
She met his earnest gaze with a demure smile, ”I do not know, Monsieur.”
”What, then?--you are only jesting with me?”
”Truly, I do not know his name.”
”Yet you are in love with him?”
”I am not quite certain even of that,” and she smiled mockingly; ”sometimes I have a fancy it may be witchcraft. I only know I am haunted--have been haunted four long weeks by a face, a voice, and two blue eyes.”
”Blue?” Dumaresque glanced in the mirror--his own eyes were blue.
”Yes, Monsieur Loris--blue with a dash of grey--the grey of the sea when clouds are heavy, and the blue of the farthest waves before the storm breaks--don't you see the color?”
”Only the color of your fancy. He is the owner of blue eyes, a haunting voice, and--what else is my rival?”