"Must we talk of that here—on the street?"
She spoke almost pleadingly, with the same soft clouding of her loveliness that I had seen the day before?
"But I must speak," I said. "You were right yesterday, I won't ask anything of you until I have made a start; but I must know that you still love me; that will be enough. I can wait. I won't hurry you. That is all, Helen. Everything shall be as you wish; but—you do love me?"
"Oh, you great tease! Why, I suppose I do; but—so much has happened, I don't know myself now; you didn't know me when you first saw me here. Why can't you wait and—don't you hope New York vill agree vit' you?"
She laughed with tantalizing roguery. "You do love me!" I cried. "And we shall be so happy with all our dreams come true—happy to be together and here! If you knew how I have looked forward to coming, and now—yesterday I thought myself insane, but I wasn't! You are the most marvellous—"
"Am I? Oh, I'm glad! So glad!"
I was confused, overjoyed at her sudden sparkle; the soft, flashing light of her was fire and dew. She made visible nature sympathize with her moods. The sky smiled and was pensive with her.
"But see," she cried with another of her bewildering changes; "we're at Columbia."
We had left the Boulevard, and were approaching the white-domed library.
"Look at the inscription," Helen said, as students carrying notebooks began to pass us. "'KING'S COLLEGE FOUNDED UNDER GEORGE II.' Doesn't that seem old after the State University? Ours, I mean."