“Well,” said Mona, “if that is it, I am sure I shall never have to make one, for I have never done anything wrong.”
This agreed so well with my conception of her that I did not then take in the full meaning of her words, but said in reply:
“But I have, and this is one thing when you were talking to Zenith about me and thought I was unconscious I was recovering, and lay quite still so as to hear what you said.”
“And did I say anything to displease you?”
“No, indeed; you said you loved me, and it made me very happy.”
“Oh, I remember now. Zenith said she hoped I loved you, and I told her I did. I have always loved you, of course, but I don’t see how that can make you happy.”
“That’s singular,” I answered. “I should think you would understand my feeling from your own. But never mind. You and I will be lovers from this time forth, and give the people of Mars an example of devotion worth considering, will we not?”
“You do make the funniest speeches,” she replied. “I don’t know half the time what you mean. But I am getting tired of sitting so long. Here is Antonia. You talk to her about love, and I’ll go over and see Foedric.”
The lightness of her manner, when I was so deeply in earnest, gave me a feeling of uneasiness, which was increased when I saw her easy, familiar way with Foedric and heard her merry song as she chatted with him. I was not very pleasant company for Antonia, for I could not prevent a return of that dreadful jealousy. I wondered if this was always to be the history of my wooing—an hour of the supremest happiness, followed so speedily by a period of such anguish. I could not possibly talk on any other subject, and so I said to Antonia:
“They seem well pleased with each other’s society. Are you not afraid Foedric will lose his heart to her?”