"I almost think I do wish it," says Dulce, with a faint little laugh; but there is a kindness in her voice new to it, and just once she lifts her eyes and looks at him shyly, but sweetly.
Profiting by this gleam of sunshine, Gower takes possession of her hand again and draws her gently towards him.
"You will marry me," he says, "when you think of everything." There is a meaning in his tone she cannot fail to understand.
"Would you," she says tremulously, "marry a woman who does not care for you?"
"When you are once my wife I will teach you to care for me. Such love as mine must create a return."
"You think that now; you feel sure of it. But suppose you failed! No drawing back. It is too dangerous an experiment."
"I defy the danger. I will not believe that it exists; and even if it did—still I should have you."
"Yes, that is just it," she says, wearily. "But how would it be with me? I should have you, too, but—" Her pause is full of eloquence.
"Try to trust me," he says, in a rather disheartened tone. He is feeling suddenly cast down and dispirited, in spite of his determination to be cool and brave, and to win her against all odds.
To this she says nothing, and silence falls upon them. Her eyes are on the ground; her face is grave and thoughtful. Watching her with deepest anxiety, he tells himself that perhaps after all he may still be victor—that his fears a moment since were groundless. Is she not content to be with him? Her face—how sweet, how calm it is! She is thinking, it may be, of him, of what he has said, of his great and lasting love for her, of—