Then she changed her ground. She was no longer a reformer, pleading for the good of humanity, but a weak woman seeking his strength and guidance, yet glorious in her matchless beauty.
"If I am wrong," she pleaded, "stay with me, and teach me. I am lonely too, so lonely in this strange land, and I do so need a friend like you, strong, and brave, and wise. And oh, I will be such an obedient pupil! Ah, you will not leave London, will you? Say you will not—not yet."
Again she almost mastered him, but still he remained obdurate.
"I must return to my work, Miss——You did not tell me your name." And she thought she detected weakness in his tones.
"My name is Olga Petrovic," she replied. "In my own country, when I had a country, I was Countess Olga Petrovic, and I suppose that I have still large estates there; but please do not call me by your cold English term 'Miss.' Let me be Olga to you, and you will be Dick to me, won't you?"
"I—I don't understand," he stammered.
"But you do, surely you do. Can you look into my eyes, and say you do not? There, look at me. Yes, let me tell you I believe in the sacredness of love, the sacredness of marriage. Now you understand, don't you? You will stay in London, won't you, and will teach a poor, ignorant girl wherein she is in error."
He understood her now. Understood that she was making love to him, asking him to marry her, but still he shook his head. "I must return to my work," he said.
"But not yet—tell me not yet. Forgive me if I do not understand English ways and customs. When I love, and I never loved before, I cannot help declaring it. Now promise me."
A knock came to the door, and a servant came bearing cards on a tray.