"She flies from me—she avoids me," he thought; "but she shall listen. I have tamed the white doves—I have made the wildest, brightest song-birds love me and eat from my hands. She shall love me, too."
He could not succeed in inducing her to look at him; when he spoke she answered, but the sweet eyes were always downcast.
"Never mind. She shall look at me yet," he thought.
After dinner he asked her to sing. She saw with alarm that if she did so she would be alone with him—for the piano was at the extreme end of the room. So she excused herself, and he understood perfectly the reason why.
"Will you play at chess?" he asked.
Not for the wealth of India could she have managed it.
"I shall win you," his eyes seemed to say. "You may try to escape. Flutter your bright wings, my pretty bird; it is all in vain."
Then he asked her if she would go into the grounds. She murmured some few words of apology that he could hardly hear. A sudden great love and sweetest pity for her youth and her timidity came over him. "I will be patient," he said to himself; "the shy bird shall not be startled. In time she will learn not to be so coy and timid."
So he turned away and asked Sir Arthur if he should read the leading article from the Times to him, and Sir Arthur gratefully accepted the offer. Lady Vaughan, with serenely composed face, went to sleep. Hyacinth stole gently to the window; she wanted no books, no music; a fairyland was unfolded before her, and she had not half explored it. She only wanted to be quite alone, to think over and over again how wonderful it was that she loved Adrian Darcy.