conversation had ended.
His abruptness and coldness were incomprehensible to her.

"Good-bye, then--Orsino."

For a moment her eyes rested on his. It was the sad look he had
anticipated, and she put out her hand now. Surely, he thought, if she
loved him she would not let him go so easily. He took her fingers and
would have raised them to his lips when they suddenly closed on his, not
with the passionate, loving pressure of yesterday, but firmly and
quietly, as though they would not be disobeyed, guiding him again to his
seat close beside her. He sat down.

"Good-bye, then, Orsino," she repeated, not yet relinquishing her hold.
"Good-bye, dear, since it must be good-bye--but not good-bye as you said
it. You shall not go until you can say it differently."

She let him go now and changed her own position. Her feet slipped to the
ground and she leaned with her elbow upon the head of the lounge,
resting her cheek against her hand. She was nearer to him now than
before and their eyes met as they faced each other. She had certainly
not chosen her attitude with any second thought of her own appearance,
but as Orsino looked into her face he saw again clearly all the
beauties that he had so long admired, the passionate eyes, the full,
firm mouth, the broad brow, the luminous white skin--all beauties in
themselves though not, together, making real beauty in her case. And
beyond these he saw and felt over them all and through them all the
charm that fascinated him, appealing as it were to him in particular of
all men as it could not appeal to another. He was still angry, disturbed
out of his natural self and almost out of his passion, but he felt none
the less that Maria Consuelo could hold him if she pleased, as long as a
shadow of affection for her remained in him, and perhaps longer. When
she spoke, he knew what she meant, and he did not interrupt her nor
attempt to answer.

"I have meant all I have said to-day," she continued. "Do not think it
is easy for me to say more. I would give all I have to give to take back
yesterday, for yesterday was my great mistake. I am only a woman and you
will forgive me. I do what. I am doing now, for your sake--God knows it
is not for mine. God knows how hard it is for me to part from you. I am
in earnest, you see. You believe me now."

Her voice was steady but the tears were already welling over.

"Yes, dear, I believe you," Orsino answered softly. Women's tears are a
great solvent of