He would think she was in love with him! Once more the question that she was always trying to evade flared through her brain. Did it really mean that—in love with a man she had not met? She said the thing was impossible, and felt it was indecent, and knew it was true. The man had needed an appeal to the senses before he repudiated the term of "friendship"; the woman had no such need. She knew that she loved him, although she refused to own it. She loved him for his mind, for all that was herself in him, for all that was kin to her, but beyond her reach. And now, while her reverie might have borne her far from the conversation at her side, she was forced to listen to him, though she had no suspicion that it was he who talked. The mind that she loved compelled her to listen—for David was striving to make the dainty Hilda lift a corner of the veil.
And there being no veil, she could not lift it; but the woman, whose presence he had half forgotten, felt her sympathies stirred within her strongly, and could have given him thought for thought, and note for note, while she sat there silent and unheeded. There was no veil. He was straining to clutch a phantasm, surrendering to the temptations of his fancied power. And, whilst the poet, pluming himself on power, put forth his intellect to master the girl that there was not, the indolent pink-and-white girl that there was, was mastering him.
"He talks too much, now he has got over his shyness," she murmured, as he moved away. "I'm glad he has gone."
"Are you?" said Bee. "Why? I'm not; he interested me."
"Really? Well, I wish you had joined in, then, instead of sitting there mum. Why didn't you?"
"I don't think he would have been very grateful; he didn't want to talk to me."
Hilda's admirable eyebrows rose just a shade higher than they would have risen if she had been surprised. Because she knew what was meant, she said, "What do you mean?"
"I could see he wanted to talk to you. He always does. I think it's rather a good thing we're going home to-morrow."
"Good heavens! don't be so idiotic. Do you suppose for a single moment I could——"
"No; I was thinking of him, poor fellow!" said Bee. "I daresay he is unhappy enough without any other trouble."