The American Baron | Page 8

know, he was so urgent--"
"Yes?"
"And so handsome--"
"Well?"
"And then, you know, he saved my life--didn't he, now? You must acknowledge that much, mustn't you?"
"Oh yes."
"Well--"
"Well?"
Minnie sighed.
"So what could I say?"
Minnie paused.
Mrs. Willoughby looked troubled.
"Kitty, I wish you wouldn't look at me with that dreadful expression. You really make me feel quite frightened."
"Minnie," said the other, in a serious voice, "do you really love this man?"
"Love this man! why no, not particularly; but I like him; that is, I think I do, or rather I thought I did; but really I'm so worried about all my troubles that I wish he had never come down after me. I don't see why he did, either. I didn't ask him to. I remember, now, I really felt quite embarrassed when I saw him. I knew there would be trouble about it. And I wish you would take me back home. I hate Italy. Do, Kitty darling. But then--"
Minnie paused again.
"Well, Minnie dear, we certainly must contrive some plan to shake him off without hurting his feelings. It can't be thought of. There are a hundred objections. If the worst comes to the worst we can go back, as you say, to England."
"I know; but then," said Minnie, "that's the very thing that I can't do--"
"Can't do what?"
"Go back to England."
"Back to England! Why not? I don't know what you mean."
"Well, you see, Kitty, that's the very thing I came to see you about. This dreadful man--the Count, you know--has some wonderful way of finding out where I go; and he keeps all the time appearing and disappearing in the very strangest manner; and when I saw him on the roof of the Cathedral it really made me feel quite giddy. He is so determined to win me that I'm afraid to look round. He takes the commonest civility as encouragement. And then, you know--there it is--I really can't go back to England."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why there's--a--a dreadful person there," said Minnie, with an awful look in her eyes.
"A what?"
"A--person," said Minnie.
"A man?"
Minnie nodded. "Oh yes--of course. Really when one thinks of one's troubles it's enough to drive one distracted. This person is a man. I don't know why it is that I should be so worried and so distracted by men. I do not like them, and I wish there were no such persons."
"Another man!" said Mrs. Willoughby, in some surprise. "Well, Minnie, you certainly--"
"Now don't, don't--not a word; I know all you're going to say, and I won't stand it;" and Minnie ran over to her sister and held her hand over her mouth.
"I won't say a word," said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she had removed Minnie's hand; "so begin."
Minnie resumed her place on the sofa, and gave a long sigh.
"Well, you know, Kitty darling, it happened at Brighton last September. You were in Scotland then. I was with old Lady Shrewsbury, who is as blind as a bat--and where's the use of having a person to look after you when they're blind! You see, my horse ran away, and I think he must have gone ever so many miles, over railroad bridges and hedges and stone walls. I'm certain he jumped over a small cottage. Well, you know, when all seemed lost, suddenly there was a strong hand laid on the reins, and my horse was stopped. I tumbled into some strange gentleman's arms, and was carried into a house, where I was resuscitated. I returned home in the gentleman's carriage.
"Now the worst of it is," said Minnie, with a piteous look, "that the person who stopped the horse called to inquire after me the next day. Lady Shrewsbury, like an old goose, was awfully civil to him; and so there I was! His name is Captain Kirby, and I wish there were no captains in the world. The life he led me! He used to call, and I had to go out riding with him, and old Lady Shrewsbury utterly neglected me; and so, you know, Kitty darling, he at last, you know, of course, proposed. That's what they all do, you know, when they save your life. Always! It's awful!"
Minnie heaved a sigh, and sat apparently meditating on the enormous baseness of the man who saved a lady's life and then proposed; and it was not until Mrs. Willoughby had spoken twice that she was recalled to herself.
"What did you tell him?" was her sister's question.
"Why, what could I tell him?"
"What!" cried Mrs. Willoughby; "you don't--"
"Now, Kitty, I think it's very unkind in you, when I want all your sympathy, to be so horrid."
"Well, tell it your own way, Minnie dearest."
Minnie sat for a time regarding vacancy with a soft, sad, and piteous expression in her large blue eyes; with her head also a little on one