That unpleasant little conversation on the lake might never have taken place for all the remembrance of it that seemed to trouble her.

Then, when he rose to take his leave, she held out her hand with a bright, amused expression.
"Good-night, _Petruchio_," she said.

"I am pleased at the name I have found for you." "I am not so sure that it is appropriate," he rejoined.

"I think on the whole I would rather love a _Juliet_ than tame a shrew." "It may be in the book of fate that you will do both," she observed; and they parted, laughing at the idea.
To the last the light shone in her eyes, and the scarlet lips were wreathed in smiles; but, when the door had closed behind him and she was alone, the haggard, terrible change that fell over the young face was painful to see.

The light, the youth, the beauty seemed all to fade from it; it grew white, stricken, as though the pain of death were upon her.
She clasped her hands as one who had lost all hope.
"How am I to bear it ?" she cried.