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‘Because-because’ (in a whisper) ’he has such—such whiskers, orange—red—there now!’

‘The murder is out,’ I subjoined. ‘Never mind, show him, all the same; I engage not to faint.’

She looked round. Just then an English voice spoke behind her and me.

‘You are both standing in a draught; you must leave this corridor.’

‘There is no draught, Dr. John,’ said I turning.

‘She takes cold so easily,’ he pursued, looking at Ginevra with extreme kindness. ‘She is delicate; she must be cared for: fetch her a shawl.’

‘Permit me to judge for myself,’ said Miss Fanshawe, with hauteur. ‘I want no shawl.’

‘Your dress is thin, you have been dancing, you are heated.’

‘Always preaching,’ retorted she; ‘always coddling and admonishing.’

The answer Dr. John would have given, did not come; that his heart was hurt became evident in his eye; darkened and saddened, and pained, he turned a little aside, but was patient. I knew where there were plenty of shawls near at hand; I ran and fetched one.

‘She shall wear this if I have strength to make her,’ said I, folding it well round her muslin dress, covering carefully her neck and her arms. ‘Is that Isidore?’ I asked, in a somewhat fierce whisper.

She pushed up her lip, smiled, and nodded.

‘Is that Isidore?’ I repeated, giving her a shake: I could have given her a dozen.

‘C’est lui-même,’ said she. ‘How coarse he is, compared with the Colonel-Count! And then—oh, ciel!df—the whiskers!’

Dr. John now passed on.

‘The Colonel-Count!’ I echoed. ‘The doll—the puppet—the manikin—the poor inferior creature! A mere lackey for Dr. John: his valet, his foot-boy! Is it possible that fine generous gentleman—handsome as a vision—offers you his honourable hand and gallant heart, and promises to protect your flimsy person and wretchless mind through the storms and struggles of life—and you hang back—you scorn, you sting, you torture him! Have you power to do this? Who gave you that power? Where is it? Does it lie all in your beauty—your pink and white complexion and your yellow hair? Does this bind his soul at your feet, and bend his neck under your yoke? Does this purchase for you his affection, his tenderness, his thoughts, his hopes, his interest, his noble, cordial love—and will you not have it? Do you scorn it? You are only dissembling: you are not in earnest; you love him; you long for him; but you trifle with his heart to make him more surely yours?’

‘Bah! How you run on! I don’t understand half you have said.’

I had got her out into the garden ere this. I now set her down on a seat and told her she should not stir till she had avowed which she meant in the end to accept—the man or the monkey.

‘Him you call the man,’ said she, ‘is bourgeois, sandy-haired, and answers to the name of John!—cela suffit: je n’en veux pas.dg Colonel de Hamal is a gentleman of excellent connections, perfect manners, sweet appearance, with pale interesting face, and hair and eyes like an Italian. Then too he is the most delightful company possible—a man quite in my way; not sensible and serious like the other, but one with whom I can talk on equal terms—who does not plague, and bore, and harass me with depths, and heights, and passions, and talents for which I have no taste. There now. Don’t hold me so fast.’

I slackened my grasp, and she darted off. I did not care to pursue her.

Somehow I could not avoid returning once more in the direction of the corridor to get another glimpse of Dr. John; but I met him on the garden-steps, standing where the light from a window fell broad. His well-proportioned figure was not to be mistaken, for I doubt whether there was another in that assemblage his equal. He carried his hat in his hand; his uncovered head, his face and fine brow were most handsome and manly. His features were not delicate, not slight like those of a woman, nor were they cold, frivolous, and feeble; though well cut, they were not so chiselled, so frittered away, as to lose in power and significance what they gained in unmeaning symmetry. Much feeling spoke in them at times, and more sat silent