“Yes, yes;” replied Wilfrid, pleased to sustain the argument for the sake of its fruitful promises. “But you must submit to be kissed, my darling. You will have to.”
The heir-apparent of the house of Pole blinked probably at that moment more foolishly than most mortal men have done. Taming his astonishment to represent a smile, he remarked: “When? are you thinking about it already?”
She answered, in a quiet voice that conveyed the fact forcibly, “Yes.”
“But you're too young yet; and you're going to Italy, to learn in the schools. You wouldn't take a husband there with you, would you? What would the poor devil do?”
“Impossible! What! as a dangling husband?” Wilfrid laughed scornfully.
“They would love you too,” she said. “They are such loving people. Oh, come! Consent to come, my lover! I must learn. If I do not, you will despise me. How can I bring anything to lay at your feet, my dear! my dear! if I do not?”
“Impossible!” Wilfrid reiterated, as one who had found moorings in the word.
He had not previously acted hypocrite with this amazing girl. Nevertheless, it became difficult not to do so. He could scarcely believe that he had on a sudden, and by strange agency, slipped into an earnest situation. Emilia's attitude and tone awakened him to see it. Her hands were clenched straight down from the shoulders: all that she conceived herself to be renouncing for his sake was expressed in her face.
Now stirred his better nature: though not before had he sceptically touched her lips and found them cold, as if the fire had been taken out of them by what they had uttered. He felt that it was no animal love, but the force of a soul drawn to him; and, forgetting the hypocritical foundation he had laid, he said: “How proud I shall be of you!”
“I shall go with you to battle,” returned Emilia.
“My little darling! You won't care to see those black fellows killed, will you?”
Emilia shuddered. “No; poor things! Why do you hurt them? Kill wicked people, tyrant white-coats! And we will not talk of killing now. Proud of me? If I can make you!”
“Something makes me feel like a little beggar.”
“Yes; but I only feel rich when I am giving; and I seem to have nothing to give now:--now that I have lost Italy!”