His words dropped slowly, with a consummate carefulness, his
manner was pointedly courteous, yet there was an underpressure of
force, of will, which made me see the danger of my position. He
said that I was quite right; that he would wish no privilege of a
woman which was not given with a frank eagerness; that to him no
woman was worth the having who did not throw her whole nature into
the giving. Constancy--that was another matter. But a perfect gift
while there was giving at all--that was the way.
"There is something behind all this," he said. "I am not so
vain as to think any merits of mine would influence you. But my
devotion, my admiration of you, the very force of my passion,
should move you. Be you ever so set against me--and I do not
think you are--you should not be so strong to resist the shock of
feeling. I do not know the cause, but I will find it out; and when
I do, I shall remove it or be myself removed." He touched my arm
with his fingers. "When I touch you like that," he said, "summer
riots in my veins. I will not think that this which rouses me so
is but power upon one side, and effect upon the other. Something
in you called me to you, something in me will wake you yet.
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