“For every one I gain the recognition of a right.”
“The richer you grow in rights then, the harder you must work!”
“I would have so many rights accorded me as to be no better than a slave!” cried Lynborough. “Yet, if I have not one, still I have nothing.”
She spoke no word, but looked at him long and searchingly. She was not nervous now, but proud. Her look bade him weigh words; they had passed beyond the borders of merriment, beyond the bandying of challenges. Yet her eyes carried no prohibition; it was a warning only. She interposed no conventional check, no plea for time. She laid on him the responsibility for his speech; let him remember that he owed her homage.
They grew curious and restless on the lawn; the private audience lasted long, the homage took much time in paying.
“A marvellous thing has come to me,” said Lynborough, speaking slower than his wont, “and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. This morning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don’t speak of the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St John’s Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have known one another longer, ay, and better than our faces.”
“Yes, I think it is so,” she said quietly. “Yet who can tell so soon?”
“There’s a great gladness upon me because my dream came true.”
“Who can tell so soon?” she asked again. “It’s strange to speak of it.”
“It may be that some day—yes, some day soon—in return for the homage of my lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition of my lips’ right on your cheek.”