“If you talk like that, Maurice, I will certainly not give you this rose.”
“Then I won’t talk like that; so give me the rose.”
“Not yet; you must win it first.”
“Helena! you are as hard-hearted as the Chloe of your song.”
“Am I? but if I don’t give pansies”—
“Helena!”
He made a sudden movement towards her of ill-suppressed eagerness, whereupon she, having betrayed herself more than she wished to do, feigned anger to escape from the declaration which she saw was trembling on his lips. Why she did this, it was hard to say, as she loved Maurice very much, and longed to hear him tell of his passion, yet she nipped his declaration in the bud. Why? Ask a woman to solve the mystery; for it is beyond the power of any man to unravel.
“See!” she said playfully; “you have upset all my flowers. Pick them up at once.”
The obedient Maurice went down on his knees before this pretty tyrant and began to collect the flowers. The position was worse than the words, so Helena, seeing the danger, hastily began to talk of the first thing that came into her head.
“Talking about ‘The Tempest’—who is Andros?”