Then he sighed, he scarce knew why, unless it was at the vision he had conjured up of Thea with the rest in
“The gloom
Of the quiet, studious room,”
her golden head filled with
“Dreams of love and lovers blent.”
The school-girlish verses and the artless enjoyment with which she explained them made her seem younger and further away than ever. How beautiful, how charming she was. Did she realize her power, did she guess how madly his heart was beating, how he longed to take her in his arms and crush her against his breast in a passion of love? He must go, else presently she might be laughing at him as she had laughed at her other lovers.
He rose abruptly.
“I think I must be going.”
Thea rose, too, her smile growing less bright.
“I will go with you to the house,” she said.