"
Astonishment was followed by annoyance as she coolly disqualified me
with a careless wave of her fan, wafting the word "cousin" into my
very teeth.
"Suppose I paid court to you and gained your affections?" I said.
"You have them," she replied, serenely.
"I mean your heart?"
"You have it."
"I mean your--love, Dorothy?"
"Ah," she said, with a faint smile, "I wish you could--I wish somebody
could."
I was silent.
"And I never shall love; I know it, I feel it--here!" She pressed her
side with a languid sigh that nigh set me into fits o' laughter, yet I
swallowed my mirth till it choked me, and looked at the stars.
"Perhaps," said I, "the gentle passion might be awakened with
patience ... and practice."
"Ah, no," she said.
"May I touch your hand?"
Indolently fanning, she extended her fingers. I took them in my hands.
"I am about to begin," I said.
"Begin," she said.
So, her hand resting in mine, I told her that she had robbed the skies
and set two stars in violets for her eyes; that nature's one miracle was
wrought when in her cheeks roses bloomed beneath the snow; that the
frosted gold she called her hair had been spun from December sunbeams,
and that her voice was but the melodies stolen from breeze and brook and
golden-throated birds.
"For all those pretty words," she said, "love still lies sleeping.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122