"She has not understood me," thought Leonhard, but instead of taking advantage of that conclusion and retiring from the ground, he said, "Perhaps I must speak more clearly. I don't care what I do or where I go, Miss Marion, if you are indifferent. I love you."
What did he read in the face which his dark eyes scanned as they turned full upon it? Was it "I love you"? Was it "Alas!"? He could not tell.
"You are pledged to love 'the True and the Beautiful,'" said she quite gayly, "and so I am not surprised."
Leonhard looked mortified and angry. A man of twenty-two declaring love for the first time to a woman had a right to expect better treatment.
"I have offended you," she said instantly. "I only followed out your own train of thought. You may have half a dozen professions, and—"
"I am at least clear that I love only you," he said. "I hoped you would feel that. It is certain, I think, that I shall confine myself to the studies of an architect hereafter. I will give no more lessons. And shall you care to know whether I go or stay?"
Miss Ayres answered—almost as if in spite of herself and that good judgment for which she had been sufficiently praised during her eighteen years of existence—"Yes, I shall care a vast deal. That is the reason why I say, 'Go, if it seems best to you'—'Stay, if you think it more wise.' I have the confidence in you that sees you can conduct your own affairs."
"If I go," he cried in a happy voice, in strong contrast with his words, "it will be to leave everything behind me that can make life sweet."
"But if you go it will be to gain everything that can make life honorable. I did not understand that you thought of going for pleasure." Ah, how almost tender now her look and tone!
"Say but once to me what I have said to you," said Leonhard joyfully, confident now that he had won the great prize.