He went to the inner door, looked in, and then came back to me.
“Seraphina needs a guide--a controller--someone very strong and gentle,
and kind and brave. My uncle will never ask her to marry against her
wish; he is too old and has too little will. And for any man who would
marry her--except one--there would be great dangers, for her and for
him. It would need a cool man, and a brave man, and a good one, too, to
hazard, perhaps even life, for her sake. She will be very rich. All
our lands, all our towns, all our gold.” There was a suggestion of
fabulousness in his dreamy voice. “They shall never be mine,” he added.
“_Vaya_.”
He looked at me with his piercing eyes set to an expression that
might have been gentle mockery. At any rate, it also contained intense
scrutiny, and, perhaps, a little of appeal. I sighed myself.
“There is a man called O’Brien in there,” he said. “He does us the
honour to pretend to my cousin’s hand.”