*******

She remained leaning against me in a resposeful attitude for some moments, ever and anon turning the ring I had given her round and round upon her finger.  By and by she looked up.

“Will you do me one favor?” she asked, coaxingly; “such a little thing—­a trifle! but it would give me such pleasure!”

“What is it?” I asked; “it is you to command and I to obey!”

“Well, to take off those dark glasses just for a minute!  I want to see your eyes.”

I rose from the sofa quickly, and answered her with some coldness.

“Ask anything you like but that, mia bella.  The least light on my eyes gives me the most acute pain—­pain that irritates my nerves for hours afterward.  Be satisfied with me as I am for the present, though I promise you your wish shall be gratified—­”

“When?” she interrupted me eagerly.  I stooped and kissed her hand.

“On the evening of our marriage day,” I answered.

She blushed and turned away her head coquettishly.

“Ah! that is so long to wait!” she said, half pettishly.

“Not very long, I hope,” I observed, with meaning emphasis.  “We are now in November.  May I ask you to make my suspense brief? to allow me to fix our wedding for the second month of the new year?”

“But my recent widowhood!—­Stella’s death!”—­she objected faintly, pressing a perfumed handkerchief gently to her eyes.

“In February your husband will have been dead nearly six months,” I said, decisively; “it is quite a sufficient period of mourning for one so young as yourself.  And the loss of your child so increases the loneliness of your situation, that it is natural, even necessary, that you should secure a protector as soon as possible.  Society will not censure you, you may be sure—­besides, I shall know how to silence any gossip that savors of impertinence.”

A smile of conscious triumph parted her lips.

“It shall be as you wish,” she said, demurely; “if you, who are known in Naples as one who is perfectly indifferent to women like now to figure as an impatient lover.  I shall not object!”

And she gave me a quick glance of mischievous amusement from under the languid lids of her dreamy dark eyes.  I saw it, but answered, stiffly: 

“You are aware, cqntessa, and I am also aware that I am not a ‘lover’ according to the accepted type, but that I am impatient I readily admit.”

“And why?” she asked.

“Because,” I replied, speaking slowly and emphatically; “I desire you to be mine and mine only, to have you absolutely in my possession, and to feel that no one can come between us, or interfere with my wishes concerning you.”

She laughed gayly.  “A la bonne heure!  You are a lover without knowing it!  Your dignity will not allow you to believe that you are actually in love with me, but in spite of yourself you are—­you know you are!”