"I esteem you very highly, prince. I
can not say more."
"But you will in time," he replied. "I would not change your
quiet friendly liking, Miss Charteris, for the love of any other
woman."
Under the bright sky the handsome Italian told the story of his
love in words that were poetry itself--how he worshiped the fair
calm girl so unlike the women of his own clime. As she listened,
Valentine thought of that summer morning years ago when Ronald
had told her the story of his love; and then Valentine owned to
her own heart, that, if Ronald were in Prince di Borgezi's place,
she would not listen so calmly nor reply so coolly.
"How cold and stately these English girls are!" thought her
lover. "They are more like goddesses than women. Would any word
of mine ever disturb the proud coldness of that perfect face?"
It did not then, but before morning ended Prince di Borgezi had
obtained permission to visit England in the spring and ask again
the same question. Valentine liked him. She admired his noble
and generous character, his artistic tastes, his fastidious
exclusiveness had a charm for her; she did not love him, but it
seemed to her more than probable that the day would come when she
would do so.
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