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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

"A Man of Mark"


The signorina smiled slightly as she heard; then she plucked a white
rose, turned round, and stood facing me, slightly flushed as though
with some inner excitement.
"I am afraid those two gentlemen do not love one another," she said.
"Hardly," I assented.
"And you, do you love them--or either of them?"
"I love only one person in Aureataland," I replied, as ardently as I
dared.
The signorina bit her rose, glancing up at me with unfeigned amusement
and pleasure. I think I have mentioned that she didn't object to
honest admiration.
"Is it possible you mean me?" she said, making me a little courtesy.
"I only think so because most of the Whittingham ladies would not
satisfy your fastidious taste."
"No lady in the world could satisfy me except one," I answered,
thinking she took it a little too lightly.
"Ah! so you say," she said. "And yet I don't suppose you would do
anything for me, Mr. Martin?"
"It would be my greatest happiness," I cried.
She said nothing, but stood there, biting the rose.
"Give it to me," I said; "it shall be my badge of service."
"You will serve me, then?" said she.
"For what reward?"
"Why, the rose!"
"I should like the owner too," I ventured to remark.


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