They watched the flight of the bird until his mate had lured him out of sight. Then Ogilvie turned to her. "Rosamund," he said, "I have something to tell you—something to ask."
She smiled at him. "Something more?"
"Oh, there will always be something more! There always is—human love being not only human! But—I have had an offer of a professorship—a new chair that has lately been given in the University of the North."
He paused, as if waiting for a question from her; but she said nothing.
"You will go with me?" It was scarcely a question; she smiled, remembering how he always took for granted that she would do his will.
"Of course," she said, quietly.
"It would mean great things for me," he went on, as one reading from an open page. "The university, the quickening life there; the unlimited power to search out; everything to work with, and then—success, success and—fame!"
He paused, and drew a deep breath or two before he went on. When he spoke again a new quality had come into his voice.
"But what if I do not go? What if I give it up? What if I stay here?"
He turned to her now, his eyes burning with his question; for, this time, question indeed it was, and not the old demand.