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English is excellent.”
    She shook her head slowly and when she looked up at him again, her eyes were sad. “My mother would never let me. It’s just … it’s just too different from her way of life. And it’s so far.”
    “But is that what you want? Your father’s life is different from hers too. Would you be happy with that life in Spain?”
    “I don’t think so.” She said it matter-of-factly. “But I don’t think I have much choice. I think Papa always meant to take Julien into the bank with him, and it was understood that I’d go to Spain with my mother.” The thought of her surrounded by duennas for the rest of her life appalled him. Even as her friend he wanted more for her than that. He wanted to see her free and alive and laughing and independent, but not buried at Santa Eugenia like her mother. It wasn’t right for this girl. He felt it in his soul.
    “I don’t think you should have to do that, if that’s not what you want to do.”
    She smiled up at him with resignation mingled with wisdom in her eighteen-year-old eyes. “There are duties in life, Mr. Phillips.”
    “Not at your age, little one. Not yet. Some duties, yes. Like school. And listening to your parents to a certain extent, but you don’t have to take on a whole way of life if you don’t want it.”
    “What else, then? I don’t know anything else.”
    “That’s no excuse. Are you happy at Santa Eugenia?”
    “Sometimes. And sometimes not. Sometimes I find all those women very boring. My mother loves it though. She even goes on trips with them. They travel in great bunches, they go to Rio and Buenos Aires and Uruguay and New York, and even when she comes to Paris, she brings them with her. They always remind me of girls in boarding school, they seem so— so”—the huge eyes looked up at him apologetically—“so silly. Don’t they?” She looked at him and he nodded.
    “Maybe a little. Raphaella ….” But as he said it she stopped walking suddenly and swung around to face him, ingenuous, totally unaware of her beauty; her long graceful body leaned toward him and she looked into his eyes with such trust that he was afraid to say more.
    “Yes?”
    And then he couldn’t stop it anymore. He couldn’t. He had to …. “Raphaella, darling. I love you.” The words were the merest whisper in the soft Paris air, and his lined handsome face hovered next to hers for a moment before he kissed her. His lips were gentle and soft, his tongue probing her mouth as though hishunger for her knew no bounds, but her mouth was pressed hard against his now too, her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his, and then just as gently he pulled away from her, not wanting her to sense the urgency that had sprung up in his loins. “Raphaella … I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.” He kissed her again, more gently this time, and she smiled with a womanly pleasure he had never seen before in her face.
    “So have I.” She hung her head then, like a schoolgirl. “I’ve had a crush on you since we first met.” And then she smiled up at him bravely. “You’re so beautiful.” And this time she kissed him. She took his hand then, as though to lead him further down the Seine, but he shook his head and took her hand in his.
    “We have something to talk about first. Do you want to sit down?” He motioned to a bench and she followed him.
    She looked at him questioningly and saw something in his eyes that puzzled her. “Is something wrong?” Slowly he grinned. “No. But if you think I just brought you out here this afternoon to ‘spoon,’ as they said in my day, you’re mistaken, little one. There’s something I want to ask you, and I’ve been afraid to all day.”
    “What is it?” But suddenly her heart was pounding and her voice was very soft.
    He looked at her for an endless moment, his face close to hers and her hand held tightly in his own. “Will you marry me, Raphaella?” He heard her sharp intake of breath, and