"There is," he said. "I have it badly. But I never had it before I first saw you in the Park!"
"Mr. Carden—this is the wildest absurdity—"
"I know it. Wildness is a symptom. I'm mad as a hatter. I've got every separate symptom, and I wish it was infectious and contagious and catching and fatal!"
She made an effort to turn the pages to the chapter entitled "Manias and Illusions," but he laid his hand across the book and his clear eyes defied her.
"Mr. Carden—"
Her smooth hand trembled under his, then, suddenly nerveless, relaxed. With an effort she lifted her head; their eyes met, spellbound.
"You have every symptom," he said unsteadily—"every one! What have you to say?"
Her fascinated eyes held his.
"What have you to say?" he repeated under his breath—"you, with every symptom, and your heavenly radiant beauty to confirm them—that splendid youthful loveliness which blinds and stuns me as I look—as I speak—as I tell you that I love you. That is my malady; that is the beginning and the end of it; love!"
She sat speechless, immovable, as one under enchantment.