She asked him what he was thinking about, and he answered of the happiness he had begun to feel was in store for them.
"What happiness?" she asked; and he answered—
"The happiness of seeing each other constantly—the happiness of lovers. Now we must see each other more often."
"How often? Every day?"
He wondered what was the exact colour of her eyes, and he pressed her to answer. At last she said—
"You cannot come here oftener than you do at present. I'm deceiving father about these lessons. What will you do if he asks you to play to him? What excuse will you give? You daren't attempt the simplest exercise, you haven't got over the difference of the bowing; you'd play false notes all the time."
"Yes," he said; "I've not made much progress, have I?"
"No, you haven't; but that isn't my fault."
"But the days I don't see you seem so long!"
"Do you think they do not seem long to me? I've nothing to think about but you."