"Yes, I do," he answered. "I am afraid it is what you have wish'."
"What is?"
Arturo looked at her steadily, with dark, sad eyes. "Yes, I think it is true. You have wish' that I should want to ask such questions but that I should not ask them. I think you like men to be in love with you but not to trouble you by telling you. Isn't it true?"
"What!" she cried; but even in her own ears the indignation she put into her voice had a sound somewhat enfeebled. Confronted with so simple yet exact a statement of fact, she was at a loss; and, indeed, she felt both helpless and foolish. She could find nothing better to do than to employ a stencil that she herself knew was too worn with coquettes' usage to be an adequate defence. "I never heard anything so unjust in all my life!"
"Then you do wish me to tell you?"
"To tell me what?" she said impatiently; but in the same instant she understood her mistake and that he would reply, "I love you!" She stepped back from him quickly, her hands fluttering in hasty gestures of negation. "No! I don't mean that; I don't mean to ask you such a question. Arturo, please"
"Then what I said of you is true."
