When he reached the flat he learned that Marian had gone out, but would be home to tea, and he decided to wait for her return.
Smoking cigarette after cigarette, he paced up and down, from room to room. Every detail seemed to bear the impress of her personality. He stopped more than once before the pastel on the easel by the drawing room window. He pulled back the curtain as far as it would go so as to let in the full strength of the waning light. Striking as was the likeness, he felt that he had failed to catch the whole charm of her face; the beauty was there, but not the pleading fascination. He tried to imagine how much he would suffer if she were to die. Drops of perspiration broke out upon his forehead as he realized overwhelmingly that perhaps he might have overestimated her love for him, and that perhaps she would one day again take her freedom. The thought of it was agony. He stood before the picture wrought into a tumult of emotion. She came in, stood beside him unheard, until she spoke:
“What a loyal lover! When he can’t worship the original——”
“I do worship you,” he exclaimed, turning fiercely, seizing her hands and crushing them between his own. “I do, that’s the only word for it, that’s the very truth. Look at me—straight—you’re everything to me; what am I to you?”
“You’re hurting my hand——”
“I hurting you!” he said, loosening his hold, “and I am ready to do anything to save you one moment’s pain. You haven’t answered me; am I everything to you?”
“Do you need to ask?” she answered, looking boldly back at him, so that as he gazed into her eyes, he seemed to see deep into her soul. “I never asked you. You show me how much you love me, and I’ve tried to show you. I suppose”—she faltered and turned away—“I suppose I’ve failed.”
“You’re right, Marian,” he said, catching her in his arms, turning her face to him, and kissing her passionately again and again; “but I do like to hear you say it. Would you like it if I never told you how much I love you?”
“No, no, dear, of course I shouldn’t. Somehow it’s not my way to say it; I’ll try to sometimes, but don’t make me do so now. Let me say it when it comes to my lips.”
“All right, dearie, you’re right.”