At last Miss Malherb reached the turning-point and prepared to take her farewell.
"I wish you could find a reason for your coldness," said Norcot, as they drew up on the lonely heights of Believer. "I'm a logical man. If you convinced me of error, it would be so different. But I have yet to know why I shouldn't love you and why you shouldn't marry me."
"I don't love you."
"Tut, tut! That's nothing. What a pitiful fellow should I be to let so small an accident frighten me from a noble purpose! Besides, 'don't' and 'won't' are very different words. Patience is my strong point, and you can't remain a child for ever."
"Words—words, Peter! I often wonder what your real life is behind so much talking."
"Marry me and find out."
"Never. You think I may love you presently. It is absolutely impossible, so spare yourself the delusion, and spare me."
"As to that, delusion is half the joy of life, and at least three parts of true love. Hear Waller. His address to the 'Mutable Fair' might do you good.
"'For still to be deluded so,
Is all the pleasure lovers know;
Who, like good falconers, take delight,
Not in the quarry, but the flight.'
Farewell, sweet Grace, until we meet again."