“You!” she cried, and began to laugh.
Her laughter was very pretty, he thought.
“Then you didn’t know it was me?” said the Greek student.
“You!” she said again. “And has it amused you—to see all these poor people in difficulties, and to know that you’ve spoilt their poor little holiday for them—and three times, too.”
“I never thought about them,” he said; “it was you I wanted to see. Try to forgive me; you don’t know how much I wanted you.” Something in his voice kept her silent. “And don’t laugh,” he went on. “I feel as if I wanted nothing in the world but you. Let me come to see you—let me try to make you care too.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” she said, for he stopped on a note that demanded an answer. “Why, you told Camilla——”
“Yes—but you—but I meant you. I thought I cared about her once—but I never cared really with all my heart and soul for any one but you.”
She looked at him calmly and earnestly.
“I’m going to forget all this,” she said; “but I like you very much, and if you want to come and see me, you may. I will introduce you to my aunts at Felsenden as—as a friend of Camilla’s. And I will be friends with you; but nothing else ever. Do you care to know my aunts?”
Maurice had inspirations of sense sometimes. One came to him now, and he said: “I care very much.”