“Oh yes you would;—in two days.”
“And I want you to speak it. I desire it especially.”
“Why especially?” asked Isa. And even she, with all her tranquillity of demeanour, could hardly preserve her even tone and quiet look, as she asked the necessary question.
“I will tell you why,” said Herbert; and as he spoke, he got up from his seat, and took a step or two over towards her, where she was sitting near the window. Isa, as she saw him, still continued her work, and strove hard to give to the stitches all that attention which they required. “I will tell you why I would wish you to talk my language. Because I love you, Isa, and would have you for my wife,—if that be possible.”
She still continued her work, and the stitches, if not quite as perfect as usual, sufficed for their purpose.
“That is why I wish it. Now will you consent to learn from me again?”
“If I did, Herbert, that consent would include another.”
“Yes; certainly it would. That is what I intend. And now will you learn from me again?”
“That is,—you mean to ask, will I marry you?”
“Will you love me? Can you learn to love me? Oh, Isa, I have thought of this so long! But you have seemed so cold that I have not dared to speak. Isa, can you love me?” And he sat himself close beside her. Now that the ice was broken, he was quite prepared to become an ardent lover,—if she would allow of such ardour. But as he sat down she rose.