singing the hymn through.
When it was ended, Tacita, perceiving that the lesson of the boys would not continue longer, hastened down the path before them.
She had scarcely reached the level when Ion overtook her.
“May I speak to you, Tacita Mora?” he asked, cap in hand. “The master gave me permission to follow you.”
“Surely!” she answered, blushing. “But tell me first for whom the bells were ringing.”
“It must be Leila, one of the school-girls. She was very sick last night. And this morning her brother did not come to the college, so I knew that she must be worse.”
“Did not I see you at the assembly?” asked Tacita. “I had but a glimpse; but I think that it was you.”
“Yes,” said Ion. “It was my first admission. I was sixteen years old the day before. We go there at my age, and the ladies teach us politeness. It is proper and kind for any lady to tell us if we commit a gaucherie. They tell us gently in a whisper. Pardon me if I still am awkward. I am but a school-boy. I wanted to kiss the fringe of your sash that night, and did not dare to.”
He bent to take her sash end, kissed it lightly, and still held it for a moment as they walked. There was something caressing and fascinating in his voice and manner.
Looking down at the silken fringe, and letting it slip tuft by tuft, he asked suddenly, “Do you love my sister?”