"You wrote this?" he asked, holding up my unfortunate scrawl. "Yes, I wrote it." "And you meant what you wrote?" "Yes." He came a little nearer to me, speaking, it seemed, with a certain passionate contempt. "And you expected me, Elsie, to accept such an answer?" Before the fire of his glance my eyes fell suddenly. "I have no other answer to give you," I murmured brokenly. The Marchesa, who had stayed in the room by my own request, glanced questioningly from one to the other, evidently unable to follow the rapid English of the dialogue. "Is it possible, Elsie, that you have deceived me? That you, who seemed so true, are falser than words can say? Have you forgotten what you said to me, what your eyes said as well as your lips, a few short hours ago?" "I have not forgotten, but I cannot marry you." "Then you do not love me, Elsie? you have been amusing yourself." "If you choose to think so, I cannot help it." "Elsie, whatever promise you have made to my mother, whatever promise may have been extorted from you, remember that your first promise and your duty were to me." I shivered from head to foot, while my heart echoed his words. But I had given my word, and I would not go back from it. Never should my mother's daughter thrust herself unwelcomed in any house. "Have you nothing to say to me, Elsie?" "Nothing." "Mother," he cried, turning flashing eyes to the Marchesa, "what have you been saying to her, by what means have you so transformed her, how have you succeeded in wringing from her a most unjust promise?" "Stay," I interposed, speaking also in Italian, "no promise has been wrung from me, I gave it freely. Marchesino, it seems you cannot believe it, yet it is true that of my own free will I refuse to marry you, that I take back my unconsidered word of this morning. I am no wife for you, and you no husband for me; a few hours of reflection have sufficed very plainly to show me that." He stood there, paler than ever, looking at me with a piteous air of incredulity. "Elsie, it is not possible--consider, remember--it is not true!" His voice broke, wavered, and fell; from the passionate entreaty of his eyes I turned my own way. "It is true, Marchesino, that I will never, never marry you." Clear, cold, and cruel, though very low, were the tones of my voice; I know not what angel or fiend was giving me strength and utterance; I only know that it was not the normal Elsie who thus spoke and acted. There was a pause, which seemed to last an age, then once again his voice broke the stillness. "Since, then, you choose to spoil my life, Elsie, and perhaps (who knows?) your own, there is no more to be said. Far be it from me to extort a woman's consent from her. The only love worth having is that which is given freely, which has courage, which has pride." Very hard and contemptuous sounded his words. My heart cried out in agony; "Andrea, you are unjust!" but I stood there dumb as a fish, with clasped hands and a drooping head.