“I haven’t changed,” she answered coldly.
He leaned nearer to her.
“Look here!” he said entreatingly. “Don’t treat me like this! Don’t shut me out! I came down early, just on the chance of seeing you. The others will be down presently, so I only have this little minute. Let me talk to you! You’re so wonderful—no one like you in the world—you and your poetry and your lovely, quiet face! Don’t send me away, dear girl!”
She sprang to her feet.
“You have no right!” she cried.
He, too, had risen.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You wouldn’t mind, if you knew how I felt about you. I’m at your feet.”
“You—” she began, but her voice was so uncertain that she could not go on.
“I’m at your feet,” he repeated quietly. “If you want to treat me like this, I can’t help it. It won’t make any difference. I’ll always—”
“Hush!” she said. “The servants will hear you!”