"What do you mean by the old complaint?" I asked.
"Oh! you know!"
"I _don't_ know."
"You would know if you really loved me."
"Oscar! it is a shame to say that. It is a shame to doubt that I love
you!"
"Is it? Ever since I have been here, I have doubted that you love me. It
is getting to be an old complaint of mine now. I still suffer a little
sometimes. Don't notice it!"
He was so cruel and so unjust, that I got up to leave him, without saying
a word more. But, oh! he looked so forlorn and so submissive--sitting
with his head down, and his hands crossed listlessly over his knees--that
I could not find it in my heart to treat him harshly. Was I wrong? I
don't know! I have no idea how to manage men--and no Madame Pratolungo
now to teach me. Right or wrong, it ended in my sitting down by him again
in the place which I had just left.
"You ought to beg my pardon," I said, "for thinking of me as you think,
and talking to me as you talk."
"I do beg your pardon," he answered humbly. "I am sorry if I have
offended you."
How could I resist that? I put my hand on his shoulder, and tried to make
him lift up his head and look at me.
"You will always believe in me in the future?" I went on. "Promise me
that."
"I can promise to try, Lucilla. As things are now I can promise no more."
"As things are now? You are speaking in riddles to-night. Explain
yourself."
"I explained myself this morning on the pier."
Surely, this was hard on me--after he had promised to give me till the
end of the week to consider his proposal? I took my hand off his
shoulder. He--who never used to displease or disappoint me when I was
blind--had displeased and disappointed me for the second time in a few
minutes!
"Do you wish to force me?" I asked, "after telling me this morning that
you would give me time to reflect?"
He rose, on his side--languidly and mechanically, like a man who neither
knew nor cared what he was doing.
"Force you?" he repeated. "Did I say that? I don't know what I am talking
about; I don't know what I am doing. You are right and I am wrong. I am a
miserable wretch, Lucilla--I am utterly unworthy of you. It would be
better for you if you never saw me again!" He paused; and taking me by
both hands, looked earnestly and sadly into my face. "Good night, my
dear!" he said--and suddenly dropped my hands, and turned away to go out.