Orsino was often amazed to find himself
talking, and, as he fancied, talking well, upon subjects of which he had
hitherto supposed with some justice that he knew nothing. By and by they
fell upon literature and dissected the modern novel with the keen zest
of young people who seek to learn the future secrets of their own lives
from vivid descriptions of the lives of others. Their knowledge of the
modern novel was not so limited as their acquaintance with many other
things less amusing, if more profitable, and they worked the vein with
lively energy and mutual satisfaction.

Then, as always, came the important move. They began to talk of love.
The interest ceased to be objective or in any way vicarious and was
transferred directly to themselves.

These steps are not, I think, to be ever thought of as stages in the
development of character in man or woman. They are phases in the
intercourse of man and woman. Clever people know them well and know how
to produce them at will. The end may or may not be love, but an end of
some sort is inevitable. According to the persons concerned, according
to circumstances, according to the amount of available time, the
progression from general subjects to the discussion of love, with
self-application of the conclusions, more or less sincere, may occupy an
hour, a month or a year. Love is the one subject which ultimately
attracts those not too old to talk about it, and those who consider that
they have reached such an age are few.

In the case of Orsino and Maria Consuelo, neither of the two was making
any effort to lead up to a certain definite result, for both felt a real
dread of reaching that point which is ever afterwards remembered as the
last moment of hardly sustained friendship and the first of something
stronger and too often less happy. Orsino was inexperienced, but Maria
Consuelo was quite conscious of the tendency in a fixed direction.
Whether she had made up her mind, or not, she tried as skilfully as she
could to retard the movement, for she was very happy in the present and
probably feared the first stirring of her own ardently passionate
nature.

As for Orsino, indeed, his inexperience was relative. He was anxious to
believe that he was only her friend, and pretended to his own conscience
that he could not explain the frequency with which the words "I love
you" presented themselves. The desire to speak them was neither a
permanent impulse of which he was always conscio