But he saw nothing, for her head was turned away from him, and for the rest his mind was too preoccupied to be observant.

By nature simple and open, it would have taken much to wake Dirk into suspicion in the home and presence of his love and cousin, Lysbeth.
"Good day to you, Lysbeth," he said awkwardly; "why, how cold your hand is! I have been trying to find you for some time, but you have always been out or away, leaving no address." "I have been to the sea with my Aunt Clara," she answered.
Then for a while--five minutes or more--there followed a strained and stilted conversation.
"Will the booby never come to the point ?" reflected Montalvo, surveying him through a join in the tapestry.

"By the Saints, what a fool he looks!" "Lysbeth," said Dirk at last, "I want to speak to you." "Speak on, cousin," she answered.
"Lysbeth, I--I--have loved you for a long while, and I--have come to ask you to marry me.

I have put it off for a year or more for reasons which I hope to tell you some day, but I can keep silent no longer, especially now when I see that a much finer gentleman is trying to win you--I mean the Spanish Count, Montalvo," he added with a jerk.
She said nothing in reply.

So Dirk went on pouring out all his honest passion in words that momentarily gathered weight and strength, till at length they were eloquent enough.