Mabel laughed in spite of herself. “You didn’t let me finish my sentence,” she said. “I was going to say that it would be only a waste of your time, too, to try to learn anything from me.”
“Never! Say the word, and I enrol myself your pupil for ever.”
“You must have a very poor opinion of me as a teacher, I’m afraid, if you think it would take a lifetime to turn you out a finished scholar.”
“How you do twist a man’s words! The fault would be on my side, of course. I was going to say the misfortune, but it would be good fortune for me,” Fitz added, in a low voice.
(“Now, if I don’t keep my head, something will happen!” said Mabel to herself, conscious that the atmosphere was becoming electric.) Aloud she remarked lightly, “Ah, you have given yourself away. Do you think I would have anything to do with a pupil who was determined not to learn?”
“Not if he has learnt all you can teach him?” demanded Fitz, rising and coming towards her. “Please understand that there is nothing more for me to learn. I want to teach you.”
“Oh, thanks! but I haven’t offered myself as a pupil,” with a nervous laugh.
“No, it’s the other way about. I want to teach you to care for me as you have made me care for you. Well, not like that, perhaps; I couldn’t expect it. But you do care for me a little, don’t you?”
“Mr Anstruther!—I am astonished—” stammered Mabel.
“Are you really? What a bad teacher I must be! I know all the other men are wild after you, of course, but I thought it was different, somehow, between you and me, as if—well, almost as if we were made for each other, as people say. I have felt something of the sort from the very first. I love you, Mabel, and I think you do like me rather, don’t you? You have been so awfully kind in letting me do things for you, and it has driven all the rest mad with envy. I believe I could make you love me in time, if you would let me try. There’s nothing in the whole world I wouldn’t do for you. If only you won’t shut your heart up against me, I think you’ll have to give in.”