The Winged Beetle

MR TODD 189 DELHOMME. Of you—of thee. How difficult is the English language to express subtle differences ! You must have seen, Miss Ossory—— EUPHEMIA. [dully]. I have seen nothing. DELHOMME. May I speak ? EUPHEMIA. What is this ? Oh ! DELHOMME. I need not tell you, I see. My unspoken sympathy and devotion—— EUPHEMIA. Spare me, I pray you. DELHOMME. I must speak. Mademoiselle, I am blessed in loving you. I offer you the sympathy and devotion of a lifetime. EUPHEMIA. I beg you to spare me. It is impossible. DELHOMME. It is the truth—it is necessary—I should kill myself if you refused. EUPHEMIA. My father—— DELHOMME. Your respected father is my warmest advocate. EUPHEMIA. You distress me, sir. It is impossible. DELHOMME. Ah, fairest of maidens, well I know your English coyness and modesty ! [Taking her hand.] Ah, give me this pure hand for good, for ever ! This hand which has been ever open to the misery of the poor, ever closed to box the enemies of your country ! EUPHEMIA. It is not mine ! DELHOMME. I do not understand. I am too worn a slave in the world’s market for my fettered soul to grasp your innocence. Ah ! you are vowed to Our Lady, perhaps ? Yet, believe me—