“Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse than that of my feelings?”
“How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him. “How can I tell which you hold dearer—political advancement, or my love?”
“How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said reproachfully—almost mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously for your acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious than all other considerations in the world?”
“Do you so hold it?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition.”
“What can you mean, Beatrice?”
“I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t make this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact to marry you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will have proved to me that your words are true—that you hold something higher than political expediency.”
She looked at him.
He looked at her.