"Yes," said Mona, and she tried in vain to say anything more. It was Sunday afternoon.
Somewhat nervously he lifted the book from her lap and glanced at the title-page.
"Your choice of literature is exemplary," he said, seating himself beside her.
"I am afraid the example begins and ends with the choice, then," said Mona, colouring. "I have not read a line; I was dreaming."
He looked at her quickly.
"Miss Maclean," he said, making a bold plunge, "I have come for my answer."
Mona raised her eyes.
"What answer do you want, Mr Dickinson?" she said quietly.
If the Sahib had been absolutely honest he would have replied, "Upon my soul, I don't know!" but there are moments when the best of men think it necessary to adapt the truth to circumstances. Before Mona came to Edinburgh he had certainly regretted those hasty words of his at the ball; but, now that he was in her presence again, now especially that he was alone in her presence, the old charm returned with all its force. Doris was a pearl, but Mona was a diamond; Doris was spotless, but Mona was crystalline. If only he had met either of these women three years ago, what a happy man he would have been! The Sahib had lived a pure, straightforward life, and he was almost indignant with Nature and the Fates for placing a man like him on the horns of such a dilemma; but Nature has her freaks—and her revenges. When he was alone with the pearl, the diamond seemed hard, and its play of colours dazzling; when he was alone with the diamond—but no, he could not admit that even the clearness and brilliancy of the diamond suggested a want in the pearl.
"I am not a boy," he said hastily, almost indignantly, "not to know my own mind."