"I know; but then," said Minnie, "that's the very thing that I can't do—"
"Can't do what?"
"Go back to England."
"Back to England! Why not? I don't know what you mean."
"Well, you see, Kitty, that's the very thing I came to see you about. This dreadful man—the Count, you know—has some wonderful way of finding out where I go; and he keeps all the time appearing and disappearing in the very strangest manner; and when I saw him on the roof of the Cathedral it really made me feel quite giddy. He is so determined to win me that I'm afraid to look round. He takes the commonest civility as encouragement. And then, you know—there it is—I really can't go back to England."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why there's—a—a dreadful person there," said Minnie, with an awful look in her eyes.
"A what?"
"A—person," said Minnie.
"A man?"
Minnie nodded. "Oh yes—of course. Really when one thinks of one's troubles it's enough to drive one distracted. This person is a man. I don't know why it is that I should be so worried and so distracted by men. I do not like them, and I wish there were no such persons."
"Another man!" said Mrs. Willoughby, in some surprise. "Well, Minnie, you certainly—"
"Now don't, don't—not a word; I know all you're going to say, and I won't stand it;" and Minnie ran over to her sister and held her hand over her mouth.
"I won't say a word," said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she had removed Minnie's hand; "so begin."
Minnie resumed her place on the sofa, and gave a long sigh.
"Well, you know, Kitty darling, it happened at Brighton last September. You were in Scotland then. I was with old Lady Shrewsbury, who is as blind as a bat—and where's the use of having a person to look after you when they're blind! You see, my horse ran away, and I think he must have gone ever so many miles, over railroad bridges and hedges and stone walls. I'm certain he jumped over a small cottage. Well, you know, when all seemed lost, suddenly there was a strong hand laid on the reins, and my horse was stopped. I tumbled into some strange gentleman's arms, and was carried into a house, where I was resuscitated. I returned home in the gentleman's carriage.
"Now the worst of it is," said Minnie, with a piteous look, "that the person who stopped the horse called to inquire after me the next day. Lady Shrewsbury, like an old goose, was awfully civil to him; and so there I was! His name is Captain Kirby, and I wish there were no captains in the world. The life he led me! He used to call, and I had to go out riding with him, and old Lady Shrewsbury utterly neglected me; and so, you know, Kitty darling, he at last, you know, of course, proposed. That's what they all do, you know, when they save your life. Always! It's awful!"
Minnie heaved a sigh, and sat apparently meditating on the enormous baseness of the man who saved a lady's life and then proposed; and it was not until Mrs. Willoughby had spoken twice that she was recalled to herself.
"What did you tell him?" was her sister's question.
"Why, what could I tell him?"
"What!" cried Mrs. Willoughby; "you don't—"
"Now, Kitty, I think it's very unkind in you, when I want all your sympathy, to be so horrid."
"Well, tell it your own way, Minnie dearest."
Minnie sat for a time regarding vacancy with a soft, sad, and piteous expression in her large blue eyes; with her head also a little on one side, and her delicate hands gently clasped in front of her.
"ANOTHER MAN!"
"You see, Kitty darling, he took me out riding, and—he took me to the place where I had met him, and then he proposed. Well, you know, I didn't know what to say. He was so earnest, and so despairing. And then, you know, Kitty dearest, he had saved my life, and so—"
"And so?"
"Well, I told him I didn't know, and was shockingly confused, and then we got up quite a scene. He swore that he would go to Mexico, though why I can't imagine; and I really wish he had; but I was frightened at the time, and I cried; and then he got worse, and I told him not to; whereupon he went into raptures, and began to call me no end of names—spooney names, you know; and I—oh, I did so want him to stop!—I think I must have promised him all that he wanted; and when I got home I was frightened out of my poor little wits, and cried all night."
"Poor dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, with tender sympathy. "What a wretch!"
"No, he wasn't a wretch at all; he was awfully handsome, only, you know, he—was—so—awfully persevering, and kept so at my heels; but I hurried home from Brighton, and thought I had got rid of him."
"And hadn't you?"
"Oh dear, no," said Minnie, mournfully. "On the day after my arrival there came a letter; and, you know, I had to answer it; and then another; and so it went on—"
"Oh, Minnie! why didn't you tell me before?"
"How could I when you were off in that horrid Scotland? I always hated Scotland."
"You might have told papa."
"I couldn't. I think papa's cruel too. He doesn't care for me at all. Why didn't he find out our correspondence and intercept it, the way papas always do in novels? If I were his papa I'd not let him be so worried."
"And did he never call on you?"
"Yes; he got leave of absence once, and I had a dreadful time with him. He was in a desperate state of mind. He was ordered off to Gibraltar. But I managed to comfort him; and, oh dear, Kitty dear, did you ever try to comfort a man, and the man a total stranger?"
At this innocent question Mrs. Willoughby's gravity gave way a little.
Minnie frowned, and then sighed.
"Well, you needn't be so unkind," said she; and then her little hand tried to wipe away a tear, but failed.
"Did he go to Gibraltar?" asked Mrs. Willoughby at length.
"Yes, he did," said Minnie, with a little asperity.
"Did he write?"
"Of course he wrote," in the same tone.
"Well, how did it end?"
"End! It didn't end at all. And it never will end. It'll go on getting worse and worse every day. You see he wrote, and said a lot of rubbish about his getting leave of absence and coming to see me. And then I determined to run away; and you know I begged you to take me to Italy, and this is the first time I've told you the real reason."
"So that was the real reason?"
"Yes."
"Well, Minnie, my poor child," said Mrs. Willoughby, after a pause, "you're safe from your officer, at any rate; and as to Count Girasole, we must save you from him. Don't give way."
"But you can't save me. They'll come after me, I know. Captain Kirby, the moment he finds out that I am here, will come flying after me; and then, oh dear! the other one will come, and the American, too, of course."
"The what? who?" cried Mrs. Willoughby, starting up with new excitement. "Who's that? What did you say, Minnie? The American? What American?"
Minnie threw a look of reproach at her sister, and her eyes fell.
"You can't possibly mean that there are any more—"
"There—is—one—more," said Minnie,