She felt the unworthiness of his position. She knew that her ideal man must always be strong and brave, whatever the circumstances of his life might be, and, so far, Leicester had disappointed her. Nevertheless, there was in his words a subtle flattery which appeals to every woman. She was, humanly speaking, the saving power of his life. The destiny of this strong man was in her hands. What might he not do and be if he were inspired by great hopes and lofty ambitions? His name could be a household word in the land. Millions of struggling, starving people would have cause to bless his name. And she, she could be the means used by God whereby all that was best and noblest in this man could be realised. For she, like all who knew him, felt the wondrous possibilities of his life. It might seem like boasting when he said that with her by his side he could do anything, but she felt sure it was true.
Besides, Leicester appealed to her woman's pride. Every woman longs for strength, masterfulness in the man she loves; she would rather be mastered by a strong man, than be master of a weak man. At that moment she forgot Leicester's cynicism, his professed scorn for all she held most dear; she thought of him as the man he could be.
Behind all that was unworthy, the real man lay strong and brave. He might become a Cabinet Minister, Prime Minister! He had power which could fit him even for this. The sphere of such a man's influence was simply boundless. He could uplift the whole tone of the nation. And then, more than all, he loved her! This was not the sneering, unbelieving man who first came to her father's house a few weeks before, who took a pleasure in laughing at all that was best and truest. No one could accuse him of lack of earnestness to-day. He had almost frightened her by the intensity of his appeal, the passion of his words. And did she love him? If perfect love casteth out fear, she did not love him. Nevertheless, no man had ever appealed to her like this man. Others had asked her for her love, and she had refused them without hesitation; but Leicester was different. If she refused him, it would be after many questions, it would be with an aching heart.
And yet she was afraid. She wanted to think, she wanted to examine her own heart in loneliness and in silence. Yes, and she wanted to speak to her father. Was this a sign that she did not really love him? It was difficult to say. Leicester had been spoken of in her hearing as one who sneered at all things which to her were sacred, and it was out of harmony with her whole life-thought to link her life with such a man. But there was another side of the question. He loved her, and the thought of his love made her heart beat quickly, and filled her with a strange joy.
These thoughts passed through her mind in a flash. Nay, perhaps she did not think them at all. They became a kind of consciousness to her, a series of impressions which possessed her being without mental activity on her own part. Moreover, Leicester, by a kind of intuition, divined what was in her mind. For these two natures were closely akin, although their training, outlook, and conceptions of life were entirely different. If he were a keen-brained, strong, masterful man, she was in her degree his equal. She loved strength even as he rejoiced in it. Although in many respects presenting a strong contrast, Mother Nature had cast them in a similar mould.
Meanwhile, Leicester was watching her closely. He tried to read her face as he would read an open book, with what eagerness we need scarcely say. What had begun in grim and almost repelling jest had resulted in terrible earnestness. This man loved with all the strength of his nature.
"I want your answer," he said at length. "And I must only have one answer. Oh, forgive me if I seem rude, but I cannot help it. I know that I have not spoken as I ought: that is because I have spoken as I was compelled. I know how unworthy I am—yes, I am in deadly earnest. I know I am not worthy to brush your boots; but I love you with all the strength of my life. Tell me, Olive Castlemaine, that I may hope."
"No," she said quietly, "I cannot tell you that—that is—yet."
She knew she yielded the whole position in that qualification, although she would not have admitted it—so strange a thing is a woman's heart. Leicester felt sure of it too, and, unbeliever as he was, he could have said "Thank God."
"I must have time to think," she went on. "I must speak to my father."