“I don’t see any reason to be dull,” answered Theresa, “though aunt’s face makes cheerfulness rather difficult.”
“I wonder how we should feel if we were going to be married?” said I.
She did not answer.
“Would you like to be going to be married?”
“Would you?”
“If you were the bride.”
She turned her head away and grew so nervous, that her step quickened, and I had to catch her hand to detain her.
“Theresa,” I exclaimed, whilst my heart beat violently, “I had no intention of frightening you with a declaration when we left the house. But—but, dearest—haven’t you foreseen that—that I should speak to you before long—that—that I should tell you——Oh Theresa!” I gasped, “I am so agitated I can scarcely speak. My impulse has taken my breath away. My darling, I am in love with you. I fell in love with you at Thistlewood, and I am able to think of nothing—of nobody but you.... Oh, tell me something.”
“It is quite impossible that you could have learnt to love me in this short time,” she answered in a low voice.
“How can it be impossible when I do love you? I know what you are thinking of—Conny. Don’t, pray don’t. If it were in my power to bare my heart, you’d know then that I loved you. No, no. I have been weak—all men are. I may have flirted—I may have played the fool, but all that is over, a deep and serious play is begun. Do you believe me?”