On the other hand, inclination and calculations as to the future, made Sharpe admire Maude very much, and perhaps he was in love with her as much as it was in his nature to be in love with anyone beyond himself. Rejected, or even scorned, he was not a man to break his heart for any woman in the land, though it might become inspired by hatred and a longing for revenge. Yet he was prepared to make 'a bold stroke for a wife' in Maude's instance. If refused once he would try again, and even perhaps a third or a fourth time, and feel only an emotion of rage on his final rejection—so in reality heart was not so much the affair with him.
Maude attempted to pass him, but he still barred her way, and even sought, without success, to capture one of her hands.
'Open confession is good for the soul,' he resumed, in a blunt and blundering way, 'and avowals come to one's lips at times, and cannot be restrained. I have played too long with fire, or with edged tools. You must know, Miss Lindsay, that no man could be in your society much without admiring you, and admiration is but a prelude to—love.'
Fear of him, and all a quarrel with him might involve, repressed the girl's desire to laugh at this inflated little speech; but he—with all his constitutional impudence—quailed for a moment under the expression that flashed in her eyes—blue, and usually soft and sunny though they were—while she remained silent and thinking:
'What on earth will he say next?'
'Do you not understand me, Miss Lindsay?' he asked, perceiving a look of wonder gathering in her face. 'Do you not know that I love you?' he added, lowering his voice, while glancing round with quick and stealthy eyes.
'Mr. Sharpe,' said Maude, trembling, yet rising to the occasion, 'I understand what you say; but I hope you are not serious, and not insulting me.'
'Is the emotion with which you have inspired me likely to be mingled with jest, or with insult to you?'
'Oh, this is too much!' said Maude, interlacing her fingers, with difficulty restraining tears of anger and resentment, while, with a keen sense of future danger and his presumption, she felt as if there was something unreal and grotesque in the situation. Moreover, she was anxious to get her letter into the house postal bag ere the latter was taken away.
'I am deeply earnest, Miss Lindsay,' resumed Sharpe, still with great humility of tone and manner. 'My regard for you is no passing fancy. I learned to love you from the first moment I saw you.'