The American Baron | Page 7

expression of mute appeal; and her hearing was deaf to the
words of love and pity that were lavished upon her.
CHAPTER III.

THE CHILD-ANGEL AND HER WOES.
Mrs. Willoughby was in her room at the hotel in Milan, when the door
opened, and Minnie came in. She looked around the room, drew a long
breath, then locked the door, and flinging herself upon a sofa, she
reclined there in silence for some time, looking hard at the ceiling. Mrs.
Willoughby looked a little surprised at first; but after waiting a few
moments for Minnie to say something, resumed her reading, which had
been interrupted.
"Kitty," said Minnie at last.
"What?" said her sister, looking up.
"I think you're horrid."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"Why, because when you see and know that I'm dying to speak to you,
you go on reading that wretched book."
"Why, Minnie darling," said Mrs. Willoughby, "how in the world was I
to know that you wanted to speak to me?"
"You might have known," said Minnie, with a pout--"you saw me look
all round, and lock the door; and you saw how worried I looked, and I
think it a shame, and I've a great mind not to tell you any thing about
it."
"About it--what it?" and Mrs. Willoughby put down her book, and
regarded her sister with some curiosity.
"I've a great mind not to tell you, but I can't help it. Besides, I'm dying
to ask your advice. I don't know what to do; and I wish I was
dead--there!"
"My poor Minnie! what is the matter? You're so incoherent."
"Well, Kitty, it's all my accident."

"Your accident!"
"Yes; on the Alps, you know."
"What! You haven't received any serious injury, have you?" asked Mrs.
Willoughby, with some alarm.
"Oh! I don't mean that, but I'll tell you what I mean;" and here Minnie
got up from her reclining position, and allowed her little feet to touch
the carpet, while she fastened her great, fond, pleading, piteous eyes
upon her sister.
"It's the Count, you know," said she.
"The Count!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby, somewhat dryly. "Well?"
"Well--don't you know what I mean? Oh, how stupid you are!"
"I really can not imagine."
"Well--he--he--he pro--proposed, you know."
"Proposed!" cried the other, in a voice of dismay.
"Now, Kitty, if you speak in that horrid way I won't say another word.
I'm worried too much already, and I don't want you to scold me. And I
won't have it."
"Minnie darling, I wish you would tell me something. I'm not scolding.
I merely wish to know what you mean. Do you really mean that the
Count has proposed to you?"
"Of course that's what I mean."
"What puzzles me is, how he could have got the chance. It's more than
a week since he saved you, and we all felt deeply grateful to him. But
saving a girl's life doesn't give a man any claim over her; and we don't
altogether like him; and so we all have tried, in a quiet way, without
hurting his feelings, you know, to prevent him from having any

acquaintance with you."
"Oh, I know, I know," said Minnie, briskly. "He told me all that. He
understands that; but he doesn't care, he says, if I only consent. He will
forgive you, he says."
Minnie's volubility was suddenly checked by catching her sister's eye
fixed on her in new amazement.
"Now you're beginning to be horrid," she cried. "Don't, don't--"
"Will you have the kindness to tell me," said Mrs. Willoughby, very
quietly, "how in the world the Count contrived to tell you all this?"
"Why--why--several times."
"Several times!"
"Yes."
"Tell me where?"
"Why, once at the amphitheatre. You were walking ahead, and I sat
down to rest, and he came and joined me. He left before you came
back."
"He must have been following us, then."
"Yes. And another time in the picture-gallery; and yesterday in a shop;
and this morning at the Cathedral."
"The Cathedral!"
"Yes, Kitty. You know we all went, and Lady Dalrymple would not go
up. So Ethel and I went up. And when we got up to the top I walked
about, and Ethel sat down to admire the view. And, you know, I found
myself off at a little distance, when suddenly I saw Count Girasole.
And then, you know, he--he--proposed."

Mrs. Willoughby sat silent for some time.
"And what did you say to him?" she asked at length.
"Why, what else could I say?"
"What else than what?"
"I don't see why you should act so like a grand inquisitor, Kitty. You
really make me feel quite nervous," said Minnie, who put her little
rosy-tipped fingers to one of her eyes, and attempted a sob, which
turned out a failure.
"Oh, I only