"I can imagine that. But I think I can explain."
"Don't explain now," said Angela. "You have said enough; explain some
other time." And she went out on the balcony.
Bernard, of course, in a moment was beside her, and, disregarding her
injunction, he began to explain.
"I thought I disliked you--but I have come to the conclusion it was just
the contrary. In reality I was in love with you. I had been so from the
first time I saw you--when I made that sketch of you at Siena."
"That in itself needs an explanation. I was not at all nice then--I was
very rude, very perverse. I was horrid!"
"Ah, you admit it!" cried Bernard, with a sort of quick elation.
She had been pale, but she suddenly blushed.
"Your own conduct was singular, as I remember it. It was not exactly
agreeable."
"Perhaps not; but at least it was meant to be. I did n't know how to
please you then, and I am far from supposing that I have learned now.
But I entreat you to give me a chance."
She was silent a while; her eyes wandered over the great prospect of
Paris.
"Do you know how you can please me now?" she said, at last. "By leaving
me alone."
Bernard looked at her a moment, then came straight back into the
drawing-room and took his hat.
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