"
"Then I shall understand."
Hermione hesitated. There was within her a hot impulse towards speech,
towards the telling to this self-satisfied young Pagan her exact
opinion of him. Yet was it worth while? He was going out of their
lives. They would see no more of him.
"I don't think it is necessary for me to tell you," she said.
"Perhaps there is nothing to tell because there is nothing the matter
with me."
His tone stung her.
"I beg your pardon, Marchese. I think there is a good deal to tell."
"All I say is, Signora, that I am like other men."
He thrust forward his strong under jaw, showing his big, white teeth.
"There I don't agree with you. I am thankful to say I know many men
who would not behave as you behaved last night."
"But I have come to ask for the Signorina's hand!" he exclaimed.
"And you think--you dare to think that excuses your conduct!"
She spoke with a sudden and intense heat.
"Understand this, please, Marchese. If I gave my consent to your
request, and sent for my daughter--"
"Si! Si!" he said, eagerly, leaning forward in his chair.
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