“Not absurd,” replied Emily. “But abrupt and——”
“And—what?”
“And”—She laughed. “And interesting.”
“There’s only a short time to live,” he answered, “and I’m no longer so young as I once was. But I don’t wish to hurry you. I don’t expect any answer now—it would be highly improper, even if your answer were ready.” He looked at her with a very agreeable audacity. “And I’m not sure that it isn’t ready. But I can wait. I simply spoke my own mind, as soon as I saw that it would not be disagreeable to you to hear it.”
“How did you know that?”
“Instinct, pure instinct. No sensitive man ever failed to know whether a woman found him tolerable or intolerable.”
“Don’t think,” said Emily, seriously but not truthfully, “that I’m taking your remark as a tribute to myself. I understand that you are striving to do what is expected of a man on such a night as this.”
“Does one have to tear his hair, and foam at the mouth, in order to convince you?” asked Marlowe, his eyes laughing, yet earnest too.
“Yes,” said Emily calmly. “Begin—please.”
“No—I’ve said enough, for the evening.” He was walking close to her, and there was no raillery in either his tone or his eyes. “It’s so new and wonderful a sensation to me, that as yet, just the pleasure of it is all that I ask.”