"I'm sure one is not compelled to offer oneself to its wounds." "No,--nor the moth to seek the flame." "La, now you are a moth,--a moment ago, a rose-bush,--" "And you are ten million roses, grown in the garden of heaven, and fashioned into one body there, by some celestial Praxiteles!" "Dear me, am I all that?" "Ay," he said, sadly, "and no more truly conscious of what it means to be all that, than any rose in any garden is conscious of what its beauty means!" "Perhaps," she said, softly, feeling for a moment almost tenderness enough to abandon her purpose, "more conscious than you think!" "Ah! Then you are not like common beauties,--as poor and dull within as they are rich and radiant without? You but pretend insensibility, to hide real feeling." "I did not say so," she answered, lightly, bracing herself again to her resolution. "But it is so, is it not?" he went on. "Your heart and mind are as roseate and delicate as your face? You can understand my praises and my feelings? You can value such love as mine aright, and know 'tis worthy some repayment?" But she was not again to be duped by low-spoken, fervid words, or by wistful, glowing eyes. She must be sure of him. "I know,--I recall now," she said, with little apparent interest; "you spoke of love a week ago, with no less eloquence and ardor." "More eloquence and ardor, I dare say, for then I did not feel love. Then my tongue was not tied by sense of a passion it could not hope to express one hundredth part of! And, even if my tongue had gift to tell my heart, I should not dare trust myself under the sway of my feelings. But I _do_ love you now,--I do,--I do!" "If now, why not before?" "Haven't I said I've been blind to you until to-night? At first I regarded you as only an enemy to be turned to my use in my peril. Having been fortunate in that, I gave myself to other thoughts. But, thinking my false love had drawn true love from you, I saw I could not in honor leave you under a false belief. But now the falsehood has become truth. A week ago, I avowed a pretended passion, to gain my life! Now, I declare a real one, to gain your love!" "What, you expect to take my love by storm, in reality, as you did, in appearance, a week ago?" She had risen from the music seat, and now stood with her back against the spinet, her hands behind her, her head turned slightly upward, facing him. "I don't expect," said he. "I only hope." "And what gives you reason to hope?" "My own love for you. Love elicits love, they say." "They say wrong, then. If that were true, there would be no unrequited lovers." "Ay, but such love as mine,--how can it so fill me to overflowing, and not infect you?" "Love is not an infectious disease. If it were, I should have no fear,--knowing myself love-proof." "I can't believe that,--for a woman with no spark in herself could not light so fierce a flame in me, by the mere meeting of our eyes."