"Perhaps not. Certainly you have not done it in this case."
"How came you to do it? Please answer me! Mr. Southwode, are you sure you know what you mean? You did not think of any such thing when we set out upon our drive this afternoon?" Rotha spoke with great and painful difficulty, but she felt she must speak.
"I had thought of it. But Rotha, I was not sure of you."
"In what way?"
"I knew you cared for me, a good deal; but I fancied it was merely a child's devotion, which would vanish fast away as soon as the right claim was made to your heart."
"And why do you not think so still?" said Rotha, the flames of consciousness flashing up to her very brow. But Mr. Southwode only laughed softly and kissed, both lips and brow, tenderly and reverently, if very assuredly.
"I have not done anything—" said Rotha, trembling and a little distressed.
"Nothing, but to be true and pure and natural; and so has come the answer to my question, which I might not have ventured to ask. Mrs. Purcell asked me to-day whether I was going to marry you, and I said no; for I never could have let you marry me with a child's transient passion and find out afterwards that your woman's heart was not given me. But now I will correct my answer to Mrs. Purcell, if I have opportunity."
"But," said Rotha hesitating,—"I think in one thing you are mistaken. I do not think my feeling has really changed, since long ago."
"Did you give me your woman's heart then?"