'Trifle—I—oh, Jerry Vane.'
'You loved me once!' he urged, drawing very near.
'Yes—I loved you once,' she said, vaguely and wearily.
Once! How cruel the speech sounded, though she did not mean it to be so, of course; for as she turned to him, an infinite tenderness filled her sparkling eyes of grey or violet blue—for times there were when they seemed both; and his met them with something wistful and pathetic in their gaze as he said:
'Ida, dearest Ida, time and separation—separation that seemed as if it would be lifelong, have but strengthened the regard I bear you; and now—now——'
'That I am free, you would say?'
'I entreat you to be mine. Your father would wish it, and I know that dear Clare does. All my brightest hopes and associations, all my fondest memories are of you; and all have been bound up now in the hope that we might yet be so happy, beloved Ida.'
'Do not address me thus,' said she, imploringly, as she covered her eyes with her slender fingers tightly interlaced.
'Ah—why?' he asked, entreatingly, and venturing to put a hand lightly on each side of her little waist; but she stepped back, and said in a low and concentrated voice:
'Because—how shall I say it? Each time you speak thus the strange thrill I spoke of passes through me.'