“Galatea, never in this world could I knowingly give you one moment’s pain. You know how I love you, and I know how hopeless is my love. I shall continue to love you to my dying day, and there is no sacrifice I would not make to see you happy. Tell me, Galatea, how I have offended you.”
She raised her head and looked at him steadily. He wondered that she did not look her displeasure. Instead, there was something in her expression—he could not think what—that made his heart thump.
“Arthur,” she said, “will you do just as I tell you?”
“Only try me, Galatea.”
“Stand out there, in the middle of the road.”
He did so. She rose and faced him at arm’s length.
“In the first place, don’t you dare to interrupt or contradict me.”
He bowed, wondering.
“Arthur, I’m a mean, low, deceitful creature, and I don’t deserve any consideration whatever from anybody. Just now I’ve made up my mind to reform—but that will take time. I want you to come out to see us often and note how I’m getting on. Now, look over your left shoulder.”
He turned his face from her. Quick as a flash she leaned forward, her lips brushed his cheek, and the next instant she had turned and was flying down the road homeward. He stretched out his arms and started in pursuit of her, crying out:—