It seemed incredible.
"Rubbish--you know you only came to look at those silly old books,"
said Flossie, nodding contemptuously towards the bookcase.
"Did you imagine I was in love with them? And think of all the things
we've done together. Didn't you know? Didn't you feel it coming on?"
"I know you've been orf'ly good--orf'ly. But as for anything else, I'm
sure I _never_ thought of it."
"Then think of it now. Or--does that mean that you don't care for me?"
There was an awful pause. Then Flossie said very indistinctly, so
indistinctly that he had to lean his face to hers to catch the words,
"No, of course it doesn't." Her voice cleared suddenly. "But if you
didn't hate me, why did you go away?"
"I went away because I was ill."
"And are you any better?"
"Yes, I think I'm better. I think I'm nearly all right now. I might
say I'll undertake never to be ill again, at least, not if you'll
marry me."
At these words his genius turned and looked at him with eyes ominous
and aghast. He had a vision of another woman kneeling beside a hearth
as her hands tended a dying fire. And he hardly saw the woman at his
side as he drew her to him and kissed her again because of the pain at
his heart. And Flossie wondered why in that moment he did not look at
her.
He was looking now. And as he looked his genius hid his face.
"You knew that was what I wanted?"
She shook her head slowly. "What does that mean? That you didn't know?
Or that you won't? But you will, Flossie?"
As he drew her to him a second time the old terror woke in his heart;
but only for a moment.
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