Where were the words and the tone that had broken down the will of other women, far harder to please than this mere child?
He felt everything at once, except love.

He saw her fortune slipping from him at the very moment of getting it, he felt a little contempt for the part he was playing and a sovereign scorn for his own imbecility, he even anticipated the Marchesa's languid but cutting comments on his failure.

One second more, and all was lost--but not a word would come.

Then, in sheer despair and with a violence that betrayed it, he seized one of Beatrice's hands in both of his and kissed it madly a score of times.

As she interpreted the action, no eloquence of words could have told her more of what she wished to hear.