No blush rose to her face, her eyes did not droop as they met his, the look of perplexity deepened in them.
"I cannot tell," she returned. "In the first place, I am not sure that I know really what love means. Lady Vaughan will not allow such a word in her presence; I have no young girl friends to come to me with their secrets; I am not allowed to read stories or poetry—how can I tell you whether I love you or not?"
"Surely your own heart has a voice, and you know what it says."
"Has it?" she rejoined indifferently. "If it has a voice, that voice has not yet spoken."
"Do not say so, Hyacinth; you know how dearly I love you. I am lingering here when I ought to be far away, hoping almost against hope to win you. Do not tell me that all my love, my devotion, my pleading, my prayers have been in vain."
The look of childish perplexity did not leave her face; the gravity of her beautiful eyes deepened.
"I have no wish to be cruel," she said; "I only desire to say what is true."
"Then just listen to your own heart, and you will soon know whether you love me or not. Are you pleased to see me? Do you look forward to meeting me? Do you think of me when I am not with you?"
"Yes," she replied calmly; "I look with eagerness to the time when I know you are coming; I think of you very often all day, and I—I dream of you all night. In my mind every word that you have ever said to me remains."
"Then you love me," he cried, clasping her little white hands in his, his handsome face growing brighter and more eager—"you love me, my darling, and you must be my wife!"