At this he would have drawn her into his arms, hoping her gayety may mean forgiveness and free absolution for all things said and done the day before; but she recoils from him.
"No, no," she says; "all is different now, you know, and you should never have come here again at all; but"—with charming inconsequence—"why did you go away last evening without bidding me good-night?"
"My heart was broken, and by you: that was why. How could you say the cruel things you did? To tell me it would be better for me to cut my throat than marry you! That was abominable of you, Mona, wasn't it now? And to make me believe you meant it all, too!" says this astute young man.
"I did mean it. Of course I cannot marry you," says Mona, but rather weakly. The night has left her in a somewhat wavering frame of mind.
"If you can say that again now, in cold blood, after so many hours of thought, you must be indeed heartless," says Rodney; "and"—standing up—"I may as well go."
He moves towards the door with "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," as Goldsmith would say.
"Well, well, wait for one moment," says Mona, showing the white feather at last, and holding out to him one slim little hand. He seizes it with avidity, and then, placing his arm round her waist with audacious boldness, gives her an honest kiss, which she returns with equal honesty.
"Now let us talk no more nonsense," says Rodney, tenderly. "We belong to each other, and always shall, and that is the solution of the whole matter."
"Is it?" says she, a little wistfully. "You think so now; but if afterwards you should know regret, or——"
"Oh, if—if—if!" interrupts he. "Is it that you are afraid for yourself? Remember there is 'beggary in the love that can be reckoned.'"