After a moment he stood still, and passed his fingers through
his hair and waved his head as a god might do it. She had now made to
him a solemn promise than which no words could be more binding. "Oh,
Florence," he exclaimed, "I must have you alone with me for one moment."
For what could he want her alone for any moment? thought Florence. There
was her mother still looking at them; but for her Harry did not now care
one straw. Nor did he hate those bright Italian lakes with nearly so
strong a feeling of abhorrence. "Florence, you are now all my own."
There came another slightest pressure, slight, but so eloquent from
those fingers.
"I hate dancing. How is a fellow to dance now? I shall run against
everybody. I can see no one. I should be sure to make a fool of myself.
No, I don't want to dance even with you. No, certainly not!--let you
dance with somebody else, and you engaged to me! Well, if I must, of
course I must. I declare, Florence, you have not spoken a single word to
me, though there is so much that you must have to say. What have you got
to say? What a question to ask! You must tell me. Oh, you know what you
have got to tell me! The sound of it will be the sweetest music that a
man can possibly hear.
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