What could he want with a word more? thought Florence. Her silence now was as good as any speech. But as he did want more she would, after her own way, reply to him. So there came upon his arm the slightest possible sense of pressure from those sweet fingers, and Harry Annesley was on a sudden carried up among azure-tinted clouds into the farthest heaven of happiness. After a moment he stood still, and passed his fingers through his hair and waved his head as a god might do it. She had now made to him a solemn promise than which no words could be more binding. "Oh, Florence," he exclaimed, "I must have you alone with me for one moment." For what could he want her alone for any moment? thought Florence. There was her mother still looking at them; but for her Harry did not now care one straw. Nor did he hate those bright Italian lakes with nearly so strong a feeling of abhorrence. "Florence, you are now all my own." There came another slightest pressure, slight, but so eloquent from those fingers. "I hate dancing. How is a fellow to dance now? I shall run against everybody. I can see no one. I should be sure to make a fool of myself. No, I don't want to dance even with you. No, certainly not!--let you dance with somebody else, and you engaged to me! Well, if I must, of course I must. I declare, Florence, you have not spoken a single word to me, though there is so much that you must have to say. What have you got to say? What a question to ask! You must tell me. Oh, you know what you have got to tell me! The sound of it will be the sweetest music that a man can possibly hear." "You knew it all, Harry," she whispered. "But I want to hear it. Oh, Florence, Florence, I do not think you can understand how completely I am beyond myself with joy. I cannot dance again, and will not. Oh, my wife, my wife!" "Hush!" said Florence, afraid that the very walls might hear the sound of Harry's words. "What does it signify though all the world knew it?" "Oh yes." "That I should have been so fortunate! That is what I cannot understand. Poor Mountjoy! I do feel for him. That he should have had the start of me so long, and have done nothing!" "Nothing," whispered Florence. "And I have done everything. I am so proud of myself that I think I must look almost like a hero."