The young
officer remained gazing at her silently.
"I like to hear you speak my name," he said, with a slight
hesitation in his breath. "Say it again."
"Car-roll, Car-roll, Car-roll," she murmured gently to herself two
or three times, as if enjoying her own native trilling of the r's.
"It's a pretty name. It sounds like a song. Don Carroll, eh! El
Capitan Don Carroll."
"But my first name is Henry," he said, faintly.
"'Enry--that's not so good. Don Enrico will do. But El Capitan
Carroll is best of all. I must have it always: El Capitan
Carroll!"
"Always?" He colored like a boy.
"Why not?" He was confusedly trying to look through her brown
lashes; she was parrying him with the steel of her father's glance.
"Come! Well! Captain Carroll! It was not to tell me your name--
that I knew already was pretty--Car-roll!" she murmured again,
caressing him with her lashes; "it was not for this that you asked
me to meet you face to face in this--cold"--she made a movement of
drawing her lace over her shoulders--"cold daylight. That belonged
to the lights and the dance and the music of last night. It is not
for this you expect me to leave my guests, to run away from
Monsieur Garnier, who pays compliments, but whose name is not
pretty--from Mr. Raymond, who talks OF me when he can't talk TO me.
They will say, This Captain Carroll could say all that before
them."
"But if they knew," said the young officer, drawing closer to her
with a paling face but brightening eyes, "if they knew I had
anything else to say, Miss Saltonstall--something--pardon me--did I
hurt your hand?--something for HER alone--is there one of them that
would have the right to object? Do not think me foolish, Miss
Saltonstall--but--I beg--I implore you to tell me before I say
more.
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