He was walking slowly towards her when he first saw her, and he had some seconds to prepare himself ere they met.
‘I came down after you, Maude,’ said he, in a voice ingeniously modulated between the tone of old intimacy and a slight suspicion of emotion. ‘I came down to tell you my news’—he waited, and then added—‘my fate!’
Still she was silent, the changed word exciting no more interest than its predecessor.
‘Feeling as I do,’ he went on, ‘and how we stand towards each other, I cannot but know that my destiny has nothing good or evil in it, except as it contributes to your happiness.’ He stole a glance at her, but there was nothing in that cold, calm face that could guide him. With a bold effort, however, he went on: ‘My own fortune in life has but one test—is my existence to be shared with you or not? With your hand in mine, Maude,’—and he grasped the marble-cold fingers as he spoke—‘poverty, exile, hardships, and the world’s neglect, have no terrors for me. With your love, every ambition of my heart is gratified. Without it—’
‘Well, without it—what?’ said she, with a faint smile.
‘You would not torture me by such a doubt? Would you rack my soul by a misery I have not words to speak of?’
‘I thought you were going to say what it might be, when I stopped you.’
‘Oh, drop this cold and bantering tone, dearest Maude. Remember the question is now of my very life itself. If you cannot be affectionate, at least be reasonable!’