"Study the unknown life-histories of the rarer Ornithoptera."
She knew no more than a kitten what he meant. But she wanted to know, and, moreover, was perfectly capable of comprehending.
"Whatever you desire to study," she said,[54] "would prove delightful to me.... If you want me. Do you?"
"Want you!" Then he bit his lip.
"Don't you? Tell me frankly if you don't. But I think, somehow, you would not make a mistake if you did want me. I really am intelligent. I didn't know it until I talked with you. Now, I know it. But I have never been able to give expression to it or cultivate it.... And, somehow, I know I would not be a drag on you—if you would teach me a little in the beginning."
He said: "What can I teach you, Cecil? Not the heavenly frankness that you already use so sweetly. Not the smiling and serene nobility which carries your head so daintily and so fearlessly. Not the calm purity of thought, nor the serene goodness of mind that has graciously included a poor devil like me in your broad and generous sympathies——"
"Please!" she faltered, flushing. "I am not what you say—though to hear you say such things is a great happiness—a pleasure—very intense—and wonderful—and new. But I am nothing, nothing—unless I should become useful to you. I could amount to something—with—you——" She checked herself; looked at him as though a trifle frightened. "Unless," she added[55] with an effort, "you are in love with somebody else. I didn't think of that. Are you?"
"No," he said. "Are you?"
"No.... I have never been in love.... This is the nearest I have come to it."
"And I."