On seeing Idris Lorelie at once made way for him on the seat beside her, the glad light in her eyes showing that he was far from being an unwelcome visitor.
Though Idris had set out in bold spirit, yet now, faced by opportunity, he began to realize that the task required more courage than he was master of: and for a long time he talked of other matters, or rather he let Lorelie carry on the conversation, finding it easier to be a listener than a speaker.
And Lorelie could talk: charmingly, and upon many topics that are supposed to be the peculiar province of the masculine mind. She had never seemed so bright and interesting as on this present occasion. How sweet and silvery her laugh! How pretty the curve of her lips, and how glowing their colour! Supposing he were to stoop suddenly and kiss them? Would not such an act be tantamount to a love-avowal, and thus relieve him from the difficulty of an oral confession?
Lorelie, observant at last of Idris' quiet manner, rallied him on his want of spirits.
"You seem very grave to-day, Mr. Breakspear?"
"Do I, mademoiselle? I am thinking."
"May I share your thoughts?"
"You may share my life if you will."
"Mr. Breakspear, what are you saying?" exclaimed Lorelie, quickly, breathlessly.
"That I love you. Is that a fault? Nay, rather, it would be a fault not to love you."