‘You have given me the subject of many. If I were to tell you how often I have thought of you, I could not answer for the words in which I might tell it.’
‘Do not tell it, then.’
‘I know—I am aware—I have heard since I came here that there is a special reason why you could not listen to me.’
‘And being so, why do you propose that I should hear you?’
‘I will tell you,’ said he, with an earnestness that almost startled her: ‘I will tell you, because there are things on which a doubt or an equivocation are actually maddening; and I will not, I cannot, believe that you have accepted Cecil Walpole.’
‘Will you please to say why it should seem so incredible?’
‘Because I have seen you not merely in admiration, and that admiration would be better conveyed by a stronger word; and because I have measured you with others infinitely beneath you in every way, and who are yet soaring into very high regions indeed; because I have learned enough of the world to know that alongside of—often above—the influence that men are wielding in life by their genius and their capacity, there is another power exercised by women of marvellous beauty, of infinite attractions, and exquisite grace, which sways and moulds the fate of mankind far more than Cabinets and Councils. There are not above half a dozen of these in Europe, and you might be one added to the number.’
‘Even admitting all this—and I don’t see that I should go so far—it is no answer to my question.’
‘Must I then say there can be no—not companionship, that’s not the word; no, I must take the French expression, and call it solidarité—there can be no solidarité of interests, of objects, of passions, or of hopes, between people so widely dissevered as you and Walpole. I am so convinced of this, that still I can dare to declare I cannot believe you could marry him.’
‘And if I were to tell you it were true?’