"You have given it all up?" said Felix, leaning forward a little, and speaking in a still lower tone. Esther did not speak. They heard the kettle singing and the clock loudly ticking. There was no knowing how it was: Esther's work fell, their eyes met; and the next instant their arms were round each other's necks, and once more they kissed each other.
When their hands fell again, their eyes were bright with tears. Felix laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Could you share the life of a poor man, then, Esther?"
"If I thought well enough of him," she said, the smile coming again, with the pretty saucy movement of her head.
"Have you considered well what it would be?—that it would be a very bare and simple life?"
"Yes—without atta of rose."
Felix suddenly removed his hand from her shoulder, rose from his chair, and walked a step or two; then he turned round and said, with deep gravity—
"And the people I shall live among, Esther? They have not just the same follies and vices as the rich, but they have their own forms of folly and vice; and they have not what are called the refinements of the rich to make their faults more bearable. I don't say more bearable to me—I'm not fond of those refinements; but you are."
Felix paused an instant, and then added—
"It is very serious, Esther."