seemed about to crush me with their soft
tyranny, when my tongue faltered, and I have almost let the mantle drop,
and stood in her presence, not master--no--but something else. I trust I
shall never so play the fool. It is well for a Sir Philip Nunnely to
redden when he meets her eye. He may permit himself the indulgence of
submission. He may even, without disgrace, suffer his hand to tremble
when it touches hers; but if one of her farmers were to show himself
susceptible and sentimental, he would merely prove his need of a strait
waistcoat. So far I have always done very well. She has sat near me, and
I have not shaken--more than my desk. I have encountered her looks and
smiles like--why, like a tutor, as I am. Her hand I never yet
touched--never underwent that test. Her farmer or her footman I am
not--no serf nor servant of hers have I ever been; but I am poor, and it
behoves me to look to my self-respect--not to compromise an inch of it.
What did she mean by that allusion to the cold people who petrify flesh
to marble? It pleased me--I hardly know why; I would not permit myself
to inquire. I never do indulge in scrutiny either of her language or
countenance; for if I did, I should sometimes forget common sense and
believe in romance. A strange, secret ecstasy steals through my veins at
moments. I'll not encourage--I'll not remember it. I am resolved, as
long as may be, to retain the right to say with Paul, 'I am not mad, but
speak forth the words of truth and soberness.'"

He paused, listening.

"Will she come, or will she not come?" he inquired. "How will she take
the message? Naively or disdainfully? Like a child or like a queen? Both
characters are in her nature.

"If she comes, what shall I say to her? How account, firstly, for the
freedom of the request? Shall I apologize to her? I could in all
humility; but would an apology tend to place us in the positions we
ought relatively to occupy in this matter? I _must_ keep up the
professor, otherwise---- I hear a door."

He waited. Many minutes passed.

"She will refuse me. Henry is entreating her to come; she declines. My
petition is presumption in her eyes. Let her _only_ come, I can teach
her to the contrary. I would rather she were a little perverse; it will
steel me. I prefer her cuirassed in pride, armed with a taunt. Her scorn
startles me from my dreams; I stand up myself. A sarcasm from her eyes
or lips puts strength into every nerve and sinew I have. So