“Look up there, child, at the moon through the tree-tops. Wouldn’t you like to be in Venice, listening by moonlight to those sweet songs in the very native land of the love they sing about?”
“I don’t want to be anywhere but here, Mr. Rayner,” said I, smiling up at the moon very happily.
“Why?”
But I could not tell Mr. Rayner why.
“I would give the whole world to be there at this moment with the woman I love. I could make her understand there!”
I was struck by the passionate tenderness in his voice, and suddenly made up my mind to be very bold.
“Then why don’t you take her there, Mr. Rayner?” I said earnestly.
As I spoke, smiling at him and speaking as gently as I could, though I felt terribly frightened at my own boldness, his eyes seemed to grow darker, and his whole face lighted up in an extraordinary way. I saw my words had made an impression, so I went on eagerly, pressing nervously the hand with which he was holding mine, for I was still afraid lest my audacity should offend him.
“Mr. Rayner, forgive me for speaking about this; but you spoke first, didn’t you? I have so often wondered why you didn’t take her away. It seems so hard that you, who want sympathy so much—you know you have often told me so—should have to live, as you say, a shut-up life, on account of the apathy of the woman to whom you are bound.”
He seemed to drink in my words as if they contained an elixir; I could feel by his hand that he was actually trembling; and I grew more assured myself.