“What do you ask of me?”
“My freedom.”
“Freedom—I am your chevalier—therefore....”
“Therefore you will not leave a poor girl room to breathe. Tell me, what reason have I given you to regard me differently from any other girl?”
“Beauty adores admiration; it is her right.”
“Beauty has also a right to esteem and freedom. Is it an apple hanging on the other side of the hedge, that every passer-by can snatch at?”
“Don’t agitate yourself, Vera!” he begged, taking her hands. “I confess my guilt. I am an artist, have a susceptible temperament, and perhaps abandoned myself too much to my impressions. Then I am no stranger. Let us be reconciled, Vera. Tell me your wishes, and they shall be sacredly fulfilled. I will do what pleases you, will avoid what offends you, in order to deserve your friendship.”
“I told you from the beginning, you remember, how you could show me your sympathy, by not observing me, by letting me go my way and taking no notice of me. Then I will come of myself, and we will fix the hours that we will spend together, reading or walking.”
“You ask me, Vera, to be utterly indifferent to you?”
“Yes.”