We shrank oddly from uttering one another's Christian name. I was the first with it; my 'Ottilia!' brought soon after 'Harry' on her lips, and an atmosphere about us much less Arctic.
'Ottilia, you have told me you wish me to go to England.'
'I have.'
'We shall be friends.'
'Yes, Harry; we cannot be quite divided; we have that knowledge for our present happiness.'
'The happy knowledge that we may have our bone to gnaw when food's denied. It is something. One would like possibly, after expulsion out of Eden, to climb the gates to see how the trees grow there. What I cannot imagine is the forecasting of any joy in the privilege.'
'By nature or system, then, you are more impatient than I, for I can,' said Ottilia. She added: 'So much of your character I divined early. It was part of my reason for wishing you to work. You will find that hard work in England—but why should I preach to you Harry, you have called me here for some purpose?'
'I must have detained you already too long.'
'Time is not the offender. Since I have come, the evil——'
'Evil? Are not your actions free?'