“We’ll go to Europe, to Italy--that’s the country for you, not this raw Western town where you’re like some exotic blossom growing in the sand. You’ve never seen anything like it, with the gray olive trees like smoke on the hillsides, and the white walls of the villas shining among the cypresses. We’ll have a villa, and we can walk on the terrace in the evening and look down on the valley of the Arno. It’s the place for lovers, and we’re going to be lovers, Mariposa.” Still she did not understand, and said happily: “Yes, true lovers for always.” “And then we’ll go to France, and we’ll see Paris--all the great squares with the lights twinkling, and the Rue de Rivoli with gas lamps strung along it like diamonds on a thread. And the river--it’s black at night with the bridges arching over it, and the lamps stabbing down into the water with long golden zigzags. We’ll go to the theaters and to the opera, and you’ll be the handsomest woman there. And we’ll drive home in an open carriage under the starlight, not saying much, because we’ll be so happy.” “And shall I study singing?” “Of course, with the best masters. You’ll be a great prima donna some day.” “And I shan’t have to be sent by Mr. Shackleton? Oh, I shall be so glad to tell him I’m going with you.” Essex started--looked at her frowning. “But you mustn’t do that,” he said with a sudden, authoritative change of key. “Why not?” she answered. “You know he was to send me. I promised my mother I would let him take care of me. But now that I’m going to be married, my--my--husband will take care of me.” She looked at him with a girl’s charming embarrassment at the first fitting of this word to any breathing man, and blushed deeply and beautifully. Essex felt he must disillusion her. He looked into the fire. “Married,” he said slowly. “Well, of course, if we were married--” He stopped, gave her a lightning side glance. She was smiling. “Well, of course we’ll be married,” she said. “How could we go to Europe unless we were?” Still avoiding her eyes, which he knew were fixed on him in smiling inquiry, he said in a lowered voice: “Oh, yes, we could.” “How--I don’t understand?” For the first time there was a faint note of uneasiness in her voice. Though his glance was still bent on the fire, he knew that she was no longer smiling. “We could go easily, without making any talk or fuss. Of course we could not leave here together. I’d meet you in Chicago or New York.” He heard her dress rustle as she instinctively drew away from him. “Meet me in New York or Chicago?” she repeated. “But why meet me there? I don’t understand. Why not be married here?” He turned toward her and threw up his head as a person does who is going to speak emphatically and at length. Only in raising his head his eyes remained on the ground.