"And more still," said Mowbray, smiling sadly; "I think you love me."
"Indeed?" said Hoffland, turning away his face.
"Yes; you gravitated toward me; but I equally to yourself. And now I think you begin to have a sincere affection for me."
"Begin, indeed!"
Mowbray smiled.
"I am glad you liked me from the first then," he said. "I am sure I cannot explain my sudden liking for yourself."
"But I can," said Hoffland, laughing; "we were congenial, my dear fellow—chips of the same block—companions of similar tastes. You liked what was graceful and elegant, which, of course you found in me. I have always experienced a passionate longing for truth and nobility; and this, Ernest, I find in you!"
Hoffland's tone had lost all its banter as he uttered these words; and if Mowbray had seen the look which the boy timidly cast upon his pale countenance, he would have started.
But Hoffland regained his lightness almost immediately; his earnestness passed away, and he was the same light-hearted boy.
"Look!" he cried, "that oriole is going to die for joy as he swings among the cherry blossoms! How green the grass is—what a lovely landscape!"