'Because I love you,' rose to his lips. But the avowal seemed too plump. He prevaricated by retorting, 'Why should I not?'
'Because I fear you,' was in her heart, but nothing rose to her lips. He looked into her eyes to read an answer there, but she dropped them. He saw his opportunity.
'Why should I not?' he repeated.
'Your time is valuable,' she said faintly.
'I could not spend it better than with you,' he answered boldly.
'Please don't insist,' she said in distress.
'But I shall; I am your friend. So far as I know, you are lonely. If you are bent upon going away, why deny me the pleasure of the society I am about to lose for ever?'
'Oh, how can you call it a pleasure—such poor melancholy company as I am!'
'Such poor melancholy company that I came expressly to seek it, for some one told me you were at the Museum. Such poor melancholy company that if I am robbed of it life will be a blank.'
He had not let go her hand; his tones were low and passionate; the heedless traffic of the sultry London street was all about them.