And, as he said nothing: "You were a little rough, a little sudden with me, Mr. Siward. Men have asked me that question--several times; but never so soon, so unreasonably soon--never without some preliminary of some sort, so that I could foresee, be more or less prepared. … But you gave me no warning. I--if you had, I would have known how to be gentle. I--I wish to be now. I like you--enough to say this to you, enough to be seriously sorry; if I could bring myself to really believe this--feeling--"
Still he said nothing; he sat there listlessly studying the sun spots glowing, waxing, waning on the carpet of dead leaves at his feet.
"As for--what you have said," she added, a little smile curving the sensitive mouth, "it is impulsive, unconsidered, a trifle boyish, Mr. Siward. I pay myself the compliment of your sincerity; it is rather nice to be a girl who can awaken the romance in a man within a day or two's acquaintance. … And that is all it is--a romantic impulse with a pretty girl. You see I am frank; I am really glad that you find me attractive. Tell me so, if you wish. We shall not misunderstand each other again. Shall we?"
He raised his head, considering her, forcing the smile to meet her own.
"We shall be better friends than ever," she asserted confidently.
"Yes, better than ever."
"Because what you have done means the nicest sort of friendship, you see. You can't escape its duties and responsibilities now, Mr. Siward. I shall expect you to spend the greater part of your life in devotedly doing things for me. Besides, I am now privileged to worry you with advice. Oh, you have invested me with all sorts of powers now!"
He nodded.
She sprang to her feet, flushed, smiling, a trifle excited.
"Is it all over, and are we the very ideals of friends?" she asked.
"The very ideals."
"You are nice!" she said impulsively, holding out both gloveless hands. He held them, she looking at him very sweetly, very confidently.
"Allons! Without malice?" she asked.
"Without malice."
"Without afterthoughts?"
"Without afterthoughts."
"And--you are content?" persuasively.
"Of course not," he said.
"Oh, but you must be."
"I must be," he repeated obediently.
"And you are! Say it!"
"But it does not make me unhappy not to be contented--"
"Say it, please; or--do you desire me to be unhappy?"
Her small, smooth hands lying between his, they stood confronting one another in the golden light. She might easily have brought the matter to an end; and why she did not, she knew no more than a kitten waking to consciousness under its first caress.