“You did not send me the poem you promised.”
“You said you would come soon.”
“Did you expect me?”
“Had I any reason to doubt your word?”
“You must not take literally all I say,” he answered with irritation.
“I have learned that. I have studied the world’s arithmetic, but I do not use it to solve any word of yours, any more than I have supposed that you would use it to find the meaning of any problem you might discover in my attitude towards you.”
“It is best not to dig and delve for a meaning, Miss Tessa; society sanctions many phrases that you would not speak in sincerity.”
“Society!” she repeated in a tone that brought the color to his forehead. “Is society my law-giver?”
It was very pleasant to be loved by a woman like this woman; he could not understand her, but she touched him like the perfume of the white rose, or the note of the thrush. His next words were sincere and abrupt. “You asked me some time since to burn the package of poems you have written for me. If I had done as much for you, would you destroy them?”
A flush, a dropping of the eyes, and a low laugh answered him.