"I have thought of one, Count," he said; "but although, so for, all that
you told me long ago in Paris has come true, and fortune has favoured me
wonderfully, in this respect she has not been kind, for the lady cares not
for me, and I would not take a wife who came not to me willingly."
"How know you that she cares not for you?" the count asked.
"Because I have eyes and ears, Count. She thinks me but a boy, and a
somewhat ill-mannered one. She mocks me when I try to talk to her, shuns
being left alone with me, and in all ways shows that she has no
inclination towards me, but very much the contrary."
"Have you asked her straightforwardly?" the count inquired with a smile.
"No, I should only be laughed at for my pains, and it would take more
courage than is required to capture a great French ship for me to put the
matter to her."
"I fancy, Sir Guy, that you are not greatly versed in female ways. A woman
defends herself like a beleaguered fortress. She makes sorties and
attacks, she endeavours to hide her weakness by her bravados, and when she
replies most disdainfully to a summons to capitulate, is perhaps on the
eve of surrender. To come to the point, then, are you speaking of my
daughter?"
"I am, Sir Count," Guy said frankly. "I love her, but she loves me not,
and there is an end of it. 'Tis easy to understand that, beautiful as she
is, she should not give a thought to me who, at the best, can only claim
to be a stout man-at-arms; as for my present promotion, I know that it
goes for nothing in her eyes.
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