The whole day was too wet to allow anything like exercise out of
doors, and Miss Carr complained bitterly of the stupidity and dullness
of a wet morning after a ball; indeed she found it so great an evil
that she threw herself on a sofa and fell into a doze, from which she
was roused by the entrance of Lord Osborne. At sight of him she
started up, and tried to be animated and agreeable, but it was
evidently thrown away upon him, as he seated himself by Emma, who was
engaged in embroidering for his sister, and began to admire her work.
Emma's manners were too quiet and reserved to give Miss Carr any
ground for supposing she was a voluntary rival, but his were so
unusually animated as to make his admiration of her indubitable, and
Miss Carr's jealousy extreme. Emma's thoughts were wandering—two
wonders continually occupied her mind, one on the subject of Margaret
and Tom Musgrove—the other more nearly connected with her own feelings
and sentiments. She was roused by Miss Osborne's enquiring of her
brother if he had seen any of their friends at the Parsonage that day.
His answer was in the affirmative; he had been walking with Howard and
had a long chat with him about something of importance, and Howard was
thinking of going away for a few weeks, if he could get any one to
take his duty; he thought his sister wanted change of air, and it was
a long time since he had enjoyed a holiday.
"Going away!" exclaimed Miss Osborne, with a look of utter amazement;
"this does take me entirely by surprise. What in the world can
influence him to such a freak as that! going away, and at such a
time!"
"I do not see why he should not go if he likes travelling in the
cold," observed Lord Osborne coolly; "he has a right to a holiday if
he chooses."
"And he has worked particularly hard of late," added Miss Carr
maliciously; "he has had double duty to perform."
"He is always very attentive to the parish," said Miss Osborne.
"Yes, both to old and young—the charitable visits that he pays to some
old ladies are most exemplary," continued Miss Carr in a sarcastic
tone. "No doubt he will be rewarded for his exertions, but I fear he
will be much missed in his absence."
Miss Osborne frowned and bit her lip; Emma continued to devote an
apparently steady attention to her work, and would not speak. Lord
Osborne added,
"I gave him leave to go, as far as I was concerned, but I do not know
whether her ladyship will like it. However, I think it rather hard if
the poor man cannot have a holiday now and then; he's a very good sort
of fellow, that Howard, though he was my tutor, I have a great regard
for him; don't you think so too, Miss Watson."
"It is very natural that you should," replied Emma as steadily as she
could, but not very well understanding what his lordship meant.
"I asked him to dine here to-day," continued he; "he said he should
like to see you, Rosa, before he went, or something of that sort, but
he did not seem certain about dining here, or when he should come up.
I almost fancy he is not well, he is so different from usual."
"Something must be the matter with him indeed, if you notice a change,
Osborne!" exclaimed his sister; "for I do not think you in general
very quick at observing faces or expressions. I must certainly see
him."
"I fancy he played his cards ill last night," said Miss Carr; "he made
some blunder between hearts and diamonds I believe—I am certain he
mistook one suit for another."
"You know very little of Mr. Howard, Fanny," replied her friend; "pray
don't pretend to judge him, it's absurd."
"Of course it is," carelessly answered she; "it's not to be expected I
should know anything of a man so completely out of my sphere. I dare
say he is a mighty good sort of man, but he rather tires me when he
talks."
"Where is Sir William Gordon?" enquired Miss Carr after a pause. "I
wish he would come here, he amuses me with his nonsense."
"In the library painting. By the bye, Miss Watson, that's one thing I
meant to speak about," continued his lordship with eager animation.
"Do you know he has got the most capital likeness of you I ever saw;
how came you to sit to him?—and he vows he will not give it to me."
"I did not sit to him," replied Emma, eager to clear up the mystery of
her walk; "he made it without my knowing it, this morning. We happened
to meet just as it began to rain, and both took shelter in the
keeper's cottage, when he amused himself drawing, whilst I was playing
with the baby."
"Oh," said Lord Osborne; "I wish you would tell him to give it to me."
"I cannot interfere with it, my lord," said she smiling. "I begged for
the sketch myself and was refused."
"I vow I must see it," cried Miss Carr: "do come, Rosa, and keep me in
countenance in intruding on his studio."
Miss Osborne declined, but suggested that her brother would do as
well, if she wished for a companion, or fancied a guard was necessary.
"Do come!" cried the sprightly Fanny. "Be my guide and protector."
"Quite unnecessary, Miss Carr—Sir William neither bites nor stings,"
replied she coolly and without attempting to move.
"You are a—what name shall I call you bad enough! Rosa, I vow I will
go and have a _tête-à-tête_ with Sir William—a nice little quiet
flirtation, if you will not come with me."
"Very well, it will serve to keep you awake—pray do," replied she
apparently quite unmoved.
Miss Carr departed, and a moment after Miss Osborne rose and walking
to the window stood there in deep contemplation for some time. The
other two were perfectly silent in the interval—at length returning to
her companions, she took her brother's arm, and saying she wanted some
conversation with him, she led him out to the conservatory to which a
door opened from the room, and they disappeared from Emma. Left alone
she sank into a profound reverie, and was engaged in trying, but not
very successfully, to bring her own thoughts into order and
discipline, when a gentle knock was heard at the door, and on her
inviting the visitor to enter, Mr. Howard presented himself.
Both lady and gentleman were excessively embarrassed at this
unexpected encounter.
"I expected to find Miss Osborne here," said he.
"She has just left the room," replied she, sitting down again, and
then not another word was spoken by either for some minutes. He was
trying to be cold, she to be easy and natural; apparently she had the
greatest success in her efforts, for after some deliberation, she said
in as calm a voice as she could command:
"I hear you are thinking of leaving home, Mr. Howard, I hope I shall
see Mrs. Willis again before you do."
"I suppose Lord Osborne told you?" replied he with a tone and emphasis
which she could not quite comprehend.
"I certainly heard it from him," answered she, rather annoyed at his
abruptness, and puzzled what to say next.
Another pause of some duration followed, and then he broke it, by an
enquiry if she had enjoyed the ball last night. She answered rather
eagerly, not nearly so much as the first one she had attended.
"I am surprised," replied he in a cold voice, "I fancied the friendly
kindness of Miss Osborne, and the attentions of her brother would have
secured you a pleasant evening."
"I hope I am not ungrateful for Miss Osborne's goodness, but she could
not with her best endeavours secure happiness even for a single
evening; and as to the attentions of her brother, to tell you the
truth, such as they are they are not particularly conducive to
pleasure. There was far more exaltation than excitement in being
honored as his partner."
"We are, perhaps, all inclined to undervalue what is in our power,"
replied he very gravely.
"I beg your pardon, but I do not see what that has to do with the
present case," said Emma, "it is not in my power to think Lord Osborne
an entertaining partner, or a good dancer, and though I mean no
reflection on him, I should not be sorry to think it was the last time
we shall ever stand up together."
"Possibly it may be," said he with a peculiar smile.
She could not make him out at all, and resolved not to speak again,
since he seemed determined to quarrel with her. Again he broke the
silence by an observation:
"I suppose now you have seen more of Osborne Castle, Miss Emma Watson,
you have become better reconciled to it."
"I like it very much," said Emma, finding she was expected to say
something, and not quite certain what would be best.
"I remember not long ago that you expressed very different
sentiments," continued he, "but circumstances are altered now, no
doubt, and it is astonishing how soon the mind becomes accustomed to
such a change. We feel inclined to doubt that we ever thought
otherwise from what we do now."
"Perhaps that is the reason," said Emma, "why I am unconscious of any
change in my thoughts and feelings regarding the Castle and its
inmates, except the natural feelings of being more at home here than
before."
"That will probably encrease," said he significantly, "you will be
much here in future."
"I do not think that," said Emma, "I have no claim on Miss Osborne
which can lead me to expect such an honor."
"Those who have rank and wealth in their hands have a heavy
responsibility," exclaimed he in a sort of reverie.
She made no reply, but continued her embroidery with exemplary
perseverance, secretly entertaining a hope that some one would soon
come in, to relieve her from the embarrassment of a very uncomfortable
_tête-à-tête_. Presently looking up, when about to change the silk in
her needle, she met his eyes fixed on her with a look which seemed at
once to contradict the coldness of his tones and the gravity of his
expressions. It called a deep blush into her cheeks, to see the
earnest yet sad interest with which he regarded her; and she eagerly
busied herself with her work in order to conceal her own emotion. She
wished to speak, but could think of nothing to say sufficiently
unconnected with her present feelings to make it safe to discuss. He
was the first to break the silence.
"You do not agree with me, Miss Watson, I perceive; has your further
intimacy in the Castle taught you that a pre-eminent situation is one
of pleasure as well as honor; have you become convinced that happiness
can be purchased and secured more easily in an exalted circle, or that
distinction and luxury are good substitutes for liberty and ease."
"If I had thought my simple silence would have laid me open to such an
imputation, Mr. Howard," replied Emma, "I should certainly have
assented to your proposition."
"Forgive me for attributing the idea to you," said he in a more
animated tone "honored as I have been with so much intercourse with
you, it would be impossible for me to avoid feeling interested in your
sentiments, and desirous for your happiness."
"I am much obliged for your kind expressions, but I trust that a visit
of a few days in this family, need not give rise to any very alarming
apprehensions amongst my friends, for my peace of mind and general
content. These would be hardly worth caring for, if they were so
easily thrown into disorder."
"Eyes unaccustomed to face the light, are easily dazzled," replied he
significantly, "and for long afterwards can see nothing in its true
colours."
She reflected for a few moments, and then looking up said, with some
warmth:
"Am I to infer from what you say, that you think my acquaintance with
Miss Osborne or even her brother likely to make me dissatisfied or
unhappy; to induce me to disregard former friends, or despise those
who have before been kind to me? Tell me plainly what you mean, Mr.
Howard; it would be much easier and safer to be at once explicit, if
you really wish to act the part of a friend."
She fixed her eyes on him as she spoke, her bashfulness overcome or
forgotten in her eager anxiety for an answer—an explanation. His
countenance, in his turn, betrayed extreme embarrassment, and he
evidently hesitated what to say. She continued after a short pause,
finding he gave no reply:
"I cannot help being afraid from your words, that you have some such
charge to lay against me. Tell me, did Mrs. Willis think I neglected
her last night; that I was too much engrossed with Miss Osborne. I
should be extremely grieved were this the case, for nothing could be
further from my wishes; if she felt hurt at anything, I fear I must
have been wrong, and would willingly do anything in my power to
explain the circumstance."
Mr. Howard's countenance betrayed that he was feeling much; but of
what nature Emma could not exactly decide. He answered evidently with
an effort,
"I assure you, you quite misunderstood me; I never intended to give
you the impression that Clara was jealous of Miss Osborne. Your mutual
friendship need not exclude you from intimacy with others—friendship
is not like love—it should not—it certainly need not be encumbered by
jealousy. But, Miss Watson, there is a feeling, a sentiment—a species
of friendship, which will not bear a rival; an affection which is
covetous of the smiles bestowed on others; which can only be satisfied
by an entire return—" he paused a moment, and then added, "I beg your
pardon, I have said too much, and I cannot expect you to understand
me. We are going in a few days to some distance, and, perhaps, I may
not see you again—I wish you every happiness—may you never have reason
to do otherwise than rejoice in the friendships you contract," he
stopped very abruptly, and after a momentary hesitation hastily
quitted the room.
Emma was left alone to try and comprehend, as well as she could, the
meaning and object of his very desultory conversation. There began to
dawn upon her mind a new idea: he was jealous of Lord Osborne. It was
undoubtedly the fact; but her own feelings were in such a state of
confusion that she hardly comprehended whether it gave her more pain
than pleasure to think this.
It was a very great pleasure to feel that he really cared for her.
Jealousy by its existence proved love, and after her doubts as to his
feelings and wishes this unexpected manifestation of his mind was at
first very welcome. Certainly his going away was unfortunate and, in
her opinion, ill-judged—it was resigning without a struggle—it was
leaving the field open to his rival—it was, for anything he knew to
the contrary, losing all chance of success, absolutely throwing away
the opportunity. Did this look like a very ardent or determined
affection—she feared not—to run away without necessity seemed rather
to indicate a wish to give up the contest—perhaps he loved her against
his will, his judgment, his sense of duty; but no—then he would not
have waited for the appearance of a rival to teach him the necessity
of avoiding her presence. Perhaps he only wished to give her time to
know her own wishes—and form her own judgment of Lord Osborne, to
allow him an open and undisputed field; and when he found his fears
were visionary and groundless he would return. This she hoped to be
the case.
As to his lordship, she never entertained a serious idea about him
till this moment; and now, but for Mr. Howard's superior knowledge of
his disposition, she should certainly have supposed that there was no
risk of his making any one jealous by his attentions.
She could not suppose the idea of allying himself with a family plain
and undistinguished like hers could possibly have entered his head;
nor could she easily imagine any one who in person, habits, and taste
would be less tempting to her. There was no credit due to her for not
liking him—the absence of all ambition to become a baroness seemed so
perfectly natural when the rank must be shared with such an
individual. Superiority of station could not weigh a moment in her
estimation, against superiority of intellect; her ambition did not
prompt her to wish for distinction and honor only possessed because
they were hereditary—but for the distinction of talent—the honor of
virtue and worth: this was what had charms for her above all the gold,
the splendour, the rank which the baron could offer.
Yet seriously she never expected to have the opportunity of proving
her entire disinterestedness; the choice would never lie in her power;
Lord Osborne could not seriously contemplate such a mesalliance, nor
could his mother and sister possibly countenance it if he did. The
idea carried absurdity and contradiction with itself: he certainly
looked at her a good deal; but she could not build a substantial
edifice of hope on so narrow a foundation in reality. He probably had
looked at twenty girls before in the same way; and as to any other
attentions, they were not so marked as to have raised any speculations
in her own mind.
It was true Elizabeth had laughingly accused her of captivating
him—but Elizabeth was only in joke—she could not have really imagined
it possible. This idea raised a new dilemma in her mind.
Suppose Mr. Howard should have retired only to make way for the
passive admiration of Lord Osborne; suppose he was waiting till his
lordship left off looking at her; and suppose he never should do
that—that his devotion should never proceed beyond a look—no
expression escape him—but the expression which his eyes might chance
to convey, what should she do, to show her indifference to his looks,
and the absence of all speculation on their meaning which she really
felt. She could not tell how to repulse him into a state of
inoffensive acquiescence, or how to convince Mr. Howard, under such
circumstances, that there was nothing to fear from his rivalry.
Besides she was not to see him again for a long time. How very unkind
of him to go away and leave her merely because Lord Osborne had such a
fancy for looking at her.
Mr. Howard had paid her more attention, had shown more interest in
her, had made a much deeper impression on her feelings than any one
she had ever known, and now he was voluntarily leaving her. It was
unkind—unjust—ungenerous—it was all sorts of bad things; she began to
look on it in a new light—to get almost angry with him, to think him
unreasonable—capricious—not worth caring about—for five minutes, at
least, she was quite indignant, and resolute not to interest herself
any more about him.
How long this new state of feeling might have lasted, if left to
itself, it was impossible to say, she was interrupted by the entrance
of Lord Osborne, who hurried into the room with an entreaty that she
would return with him to the library.
Emma rather demurred to this request; at that moment, she felt little
inclined to go any where, especially in compliance with Lord Osborne's
wishes. But on her begging to know what he wanted, he reiterated his
entreaty with more urgency, and no explanation. She, therefore,
decidedly declined, he then expressed great mortification and regret,
ending with an assurance that Sir William Gordon wanted her.
She continued to refuse, quickly observing that she was sorry to
disappoint Sir William Gordon by disobeying his summons, but she did
not feel equal to such an exertion—and, therefore, if the interview
was inevitable, he had better come to her.
Lord Osborne declared he would go and tell him so. She had no idea
that he was seriously intending so to do; but as soon as he had left
the room she began to put away her work that she might escape into
solitude. This and the necessary arrangements took her up some
time—she found he had entangled her silk whilst sitting by her side;
and before she had put every thing in proper order, she found her
solitude again invaded by Lord Osborne, who returned together with Sir
William and Miss Carr, when all three united in entreating her to come
at once to the library.
Emma still persisted in begging for an explanation of their request;
and as soon as any of the party would attend to her sufficiently to
give her an answer, she learnt that the object they had in view was,
that she should sit to Sir William, in order to give him the
opportunity of correctly finishing the sketch he had hastily made in
the morning. Emma declined; the original sketch, she declared, had
been surreptitiously taken, and must now be finished in the best way
it could without any intervention on her part.
"How cruel—how unkind!" exclaimed Miss Carr; "my dear Miss Watson, you
will break Sir William's heart. I assure you he is bent on carrying
away a faithful remembrance of you."
"No, no, Gordon is to give it to me," interposed Lord Osborne, "I told
him so, and I shall certainly expect it."
"I shall do no such thing, I assure you," returned Sir William, "if I
part with it at all, I shall give it to Mrs. Willis, my particular
friend and favorite, Mrs. Willis, to hang in the parlour at the
parsonage."
"Finish it as you please—and hang it where you please, but excuse my
undergoing the penance of a sitting for any such object," replied
Emma.
"I had not the presumption to ask it," said Sir William, "and only
accompanied my good friends here, lest they should take liberties in
my name which I could not sanction. The utmost I request is, that you
should come and look at my picture."
To get rid of their importunity, she consented to go with them; and in
the library she found Miss Osborne, who had not joined the embassy,
and did not look in a particularly happy mood. Emma saw at once that
all was not right there, and regarded her friend's disturbed
countenance with some anxiety. Miss Carr amused herself with finding
all manner of fault in the painting, which Sir William persisted in
denying, declaring the defects she saw arose only from the unfinished
state of the work. Emma did not attend to them, but turned to Miss
Osborne, and began to explain to her, how, when, and where, the sketch
was made.
Miss Osborne listened in silence for some time, but looked relieved,
and then begged her to oblige Sir William by consenting. She was much
surprised, but the grave and earnest way in which the request was
made, induced her, after a momentary hesitation to comply.
Miss Osborne engaged for her, that she should not be detained more
than an hour, a stipulation which was the pleasantest part of the
arrangement, as both Lord Osborne and Miss Carr stationed themselves
behind Sir William, one chattering about every stroke he drew, and
commenting on her figure as if she had been an inanimate object—the
other staring in his unmerciful way at her face, delighted to be
furnished with so excellent an opportunity, and so good an excuse.
"Be sure and make her complexion dark enough, Sir William," cried Miss
Carr, "Miss Watson is so very dark—quite a brunette; I think you have
made the hand a little too small, it strikes me she has not quite such
slender hands—and the hair—surely, you have indulged in a little
imagination there—that luxuriant braid—our eyes must see differently
if you think that natural and like her own."
"I have no doubt in the world that our eyes do see very differently,
Miss Carr," replied Sir William, "I have always observed it to be the
case where feminine beauty is concerned."
"There is not a bit too much hair," interposed Lord Osborne, "but she
does not wear it in that tumble-down fashion—she is always
particularly neat and tidy about the head. I like to see a small head
and pretty ear—why don't you show her ear; it's a mark of blood to see
a small ear—all ladies should have small ears."
"So they should all have pretty hands," replied Fanny Carr, "but, my
dear Lord, they cannot always get them."
As she spoke, she laid her own fairy-like fingers on his coat sleeve.
Lord Osborne moved his arm and allowed the little hand to drop
unregarded. The fair Fanny thought him a great brute for the same.
"My good people," cried Sir William, "my very dear friends, I really
must trouble you to move a little farther off. I think I shall send
you out of the room, Miss Carr, be so good as to take Lord Osborne
into the conservatory and select a bouquet for my refreshment. I
cannot stand all your critical remarks at my back."
"Come, my lord," cried the young lady, "come, do as you are bid."
"Not I," said he.
"I shall not make you a copy if you do not," interposed Sir William,
"nor ever let you see the original again."
"Well," said his lordship, moving reluctantly away, "I'll go on those
conditions."
The couple left the room; Miss Osborne remained in silence.
"I have no objection to Miss Osborne remaining," continued he in a
saucy tone, "if she is determined to patronise a poor artist with her
presence."
"I am waiting for Miss Watson's sake, Sir William," returned the lady
addressed, "I cannot for a moment imagine that my presence can make
any difference to you."
Emma thought her friend looked remarkably unamiable as she spoke, and
wondered what was the matter.
"Have you seen Mr. Howard," enquired Rosa in a low voice.
Sir William looked up quickly, in time to catch the deep blush with
which Emma's cheek was tinged, as she answered in the affirmative.
"How did you think him—my brother said he seemed unwell—what did he
appear to you?"
"Very odd," replied Emma, scarcely knowing, however, what she said.
Miss Osborne mused again.
"Something must be the matter," said she at length rather earnestly.
Emma could only answer that she did not know, and wished to drop the
subject. She turned to Sir William,
"I hope you are not going to try my patience much longer. I only
promised for half an hour you know."
"Very true, but half an hour of that kind is of an elastic sort,
extending from one hour to three at least, as I am sure you must have
experienced when obliged to wait for a friend."
"Possibly," said Emma, "but ask yourself in that case what you would
do—vote it a great bore, and run away."
"An impatient, frail mortal like myself might do so, but you are too
near perfection to exhibit any such weak unkindness."
"Your flattery shall not bribe me to remain. Miss Osborne, may I not
go? it was at your request I stayed—pray release me from the spell."
"Sabrina, fair,
Listen where thou art sitting—"
murmured Sir William in an under tone, without looking up.
"We will go together," said Miss Osborne.
"Fair ladies, will you not first condescend to cast an eye on the
production of my humble pencil. Have you no curiosity, Miss Watson—no
sympathy, Miss Osborne? do give me your opinion."
"My opinion would, you know, be totally useless," said Emma, turning
round from the door which she had just reached; she stopped in her
speech from catching a glance of Sir William's directed towards Miss
Osborne, which seemed to say her own was not exactly the opinion he
most desired. She left the room without another word, and her exit was
followed by a silence of some moments' space between the two who
remained.
Sir William broke it first.
"Are you absolutely determined against exhibiting any interest in my
proceedings—against giving me any encouragement in my efforts?"
Miss Osborne colored deeply, then walking up to the easel said, as she
affected to be examining the drawing,
"Sir William, you have no doubt an accurate eye for likenesses, but I
doubt from the expression you give, whether you possess equal
penetration with regard to characters."
"Give me an instance of my failure," cried he, delighted to have
induced her to speak at all, "explain your critique, Miss Osborne."
"No," replied she, "I leave the application of the moral to you—you
expect to produce a great effect, but the opposition jars on the
senses, and produces harshness, not softness, in consequence."
He fixed his eyes on her with a look of deep penetration, as if trying
to read her thoughts in her countenance. She continued calmly to
contemplate the painting, as if quite engrossed by that object.
"Are you referring entirely to this picture," enquired he, "or to some
other design of mine?"
She colored still more deeply, and answered that he best knew if her
censure was applicable or not.
"I own I suspect you of speaking metaphorically, Miss Osborne."
She was silent.
"But I think you wrong me," he continued, "do you suppose I should
dare flatter myself that you would take any interest in my
proceedings, that you would condescend to feel any concern about where
I went, with whom I associated—what I was doing. Should you not
condemn it as unpardonable impertinence if I presumed thus far."
"Very likely I might, Sir William, but I have an idea that it would
not be the first time you had been guilty of impertinence, or expected
forgiveness when you were unpardonable."
He smiled.
"I will be very candid, Miss Osborne," said he, "and if I sin in doing
so, remember your own accusations are alone to blame for it. I own
your caprice and the variations in your conduct towards me, have for a
moment made me seek the comfort of contrast in Emma Watson—but it was
your own fault—you knew I loved you, and you wished to torment me."
"Sir William, this appears to me a most extraordinary style of
address—you have never, to my knowledge, uttered a word indicative of
the love you now allude to as a well known feeling. However, let that
pass—the love you say has done the same—why then mention it now?"
"The love has not, and cannot pass, Rosa—it is of too old and stubborn
a nature, has been nursed with too much care in its infancy to be
easily extinguished now. You have been unkind and variable as the
wind—you have refused to speak to me—sometimes to look at me—you have
said the most bitter things you could devise—you have been unjust in
every possible way—now be candid and kind for once. Tell me how you
really regard me!"
"As the most extraordinary of mortals, Sir William. Your manner of
address may possibly have the charm of novelty—I have little
experience in that way, and cannot therefore tell; but I should
suppose there were few men who preface a declaration of affection with
violent abuse."
He saw that her gaiety was affected—that she really trembled, and had
some trouble in commanding her countenance: he proceeded.
"What else remains to me; the devotion, the silent adoration of a
twelvemonth have been of no avail—you have persisted in slighting
me—now I will speak out; I love you, Rosa—you know it—give me an
answer at once—reject or accept—but trifle with me no more—or I will
never see your face again!"
She tried to speak, but quite overcome, she burst into tears, and
seemed on the point of quitting the room, but he resolutely detained
her. His arm was round her waist, his hand clasping hers, and as he
whispered in her ear—"Rosa, you _do_ love me"—she did not deny it.