hing," he decreed,
suddenly, recklessly.

"There are a thousand reasons why I could not offer her my hand," he
said. "One reason is that I am in love with another woman."

His throat was dry, his voice sounded strained. His heart beat hard.
He had burned his first bridge. He kept his eyes on her.

She continued to gaze down the avenue. I think she caught her breath,
though.

"Oh--?" she said, after an instant, on a tone that tried in vain to be
a tone of conventional politeness. She had been perfectly aware, of
course, that it was bound to come. She had fancied herself perfectly
prepared to cope with it, when it should come. But she had not
expected it to come just yet. It took her off her guard.

"Yes," said he; "and you know whom I am in love with."

This time there could be no doubt that she caught her breath. She had
overestimated her power of self-command, her talent for dissembling.
She had known that it was bound to come; she had imagined that she
could meet it lightly, humorously, that she could parry it, and never
betray herself. And here she was, catching her breath, whilst her
heart trembled and sank and sang within her. She bit her lip, in
vexation; she closed her eyes, in ecstasy; she kept her face turned
down the avenue, in fear.

Anthony's heart was leaping. A wild hope had kindled in it.

"I am in love with _you_--with _you_," he cried, in a voice that shook.

She did not speak, she did not look at him, but she caught her breath
audibly, a long tremulous breath.

He knelt at her feet, he seized her hands. She did not withdraw them.

"I love you, I love you. Don't keep your face turned from me. Look at
me. Answer me. I love you. Will you marry me?"

He felt her hands tremble in his. Her surrender of them--was it not
fuel to the fire of his hope? He put his lips to them, he kissed them,
he covered them with kisses. They were warm, and sweet to smell,
faintly, terribly sweet to smell.

At last she drew them away. She shrunk away herself, back along her
bench. She bit her lip, in chagrin at her weakness, her
self-indulgence. She knew that she was losing ground, precious,
indispensable, to that deep-laid, secret, cherished plot of hers. But
her heart sang and sang, but a joy such as she had never dreamed of
filled it. Oh, she had known that her heart would be filled with joy,
when he should say, "I love you"; but she had never dreamed of a joy
such as this. This was