_She_, with severity: “May I ask _why_ the circumstances were peculiar? I saw nothing peculiar about the circumstances. It seemed to me it was a very simple matter. I told you that I had always had a great curiosity to see whether I could use oil paints, and I asked you a very plain question, whether you would let me study with you. Didn’t I?” _He_: “Yes.” _She_: “Was there anything wrong—anything queer about my asking you?” _He_: “No, no! Not at all—not in the least.” _She_: “Didn’t you wish me to take the lessons of you? If you didn’t, it wasn’t kind of you to let me.” _He_: “Oh, I was perfectly willing—very glad indeed, very much so—certainly!” _She_: “If it wasn’t your _custom_ to take pupils, you ought to have told me, and I wouldn’t have forced myself upon you.” _He_, desperately: “It wasn’t forcing yourself upon me. The Lord knows how humbly grateful I was. It was like a hope of heaven!” _She_: “Really, Mr. Ransom, this is very strange talk. What am I to understand by it? Why should you be grateful to teach me? Why should giving me lessons be like a hope of heaven?” _He_: “Oh, I will tell you!” _She_: “Well?” _He_, after a moment of agony: “Because to be with you”— _She_: “Yes?” _He_: “Because I wished to be with you. Because—those days in the woods, when you read, and I”— _She_: “Painted on my pictures”— _He_: “Were the happiest of my life. Because—I loved you!” _She_: “Mr. Ransom!” _He_: “Yes, I must tell you so. I loved you; I love you still. I shall always love you, no matter what”— _She_: “You forget yourself, Mr. Ransom. Has there been anything in my manner—conduct—to justify you in using such language to me?” _He_: “No—no”— _She_: “Did you suppose that because I first took lessons of you from—from—an enthusiasm for art, and then continued them for—for—amusement, that I wished you to make love to me?” _He_: “No, I never supposed such a thing. I’m incapable of it. I beseech you to believe that no one could have more respect—reverence”—He twirls his hat between his hands, and casts an imploring glance at her. _She_: “Oh, respect—reverence! I know what they mean in the mouths of men. If you respected, if you reverenced me, could you dare to tell me, after my unguarded trust of you during the past months, that you had been all the time secretly in love with me?” _He_, plucking up a little courage: “I don’t see that the three things are incompatible.” _She_: “Oh, then you acknowledge that you did presume upon something you thought you saw in me to tell me that you loved me, and that you were in love with me all the time?” _He_, contritely: “I have no right to suppose that you encouraged me; and yet—I can’t deny it now—I was in love with you all the time.” _She_: “And you never said a word to let me believe that you had any such feeling toward me!” _He_: “I—I”—