“I do not perceive that you are any more partial to him than to me.” “I am not, Dick.” He looked at her; he took her hand, but she gently released it from his grasp. “Julia, I love you with all my soul. My fate is in your hands.” “That is very dramatic.” “You mock me.” “I cannot really determine, Dick, whether to be serious or not.” “I am so.” “I will not laugh again--if I can help it. I don’t know what to say.” “There is one thing you can say.” “What is that?” “Whether you love me or not.” “I don’t know whether to say that or not.” “You know whether you do love me or not.” “Perhaps I don’t,” replied she, musing. “You have never given me an opportunity to love you; or, at least, to find out whether I did or not. Do you think, Dick, that ladies fall in love with gentlemen just as they do with new bonnets, without any excuse for doing so?” “Not often.” “Sometimes they do, I grant; but I am not so impulsive.” “Do you dislike me, Julia?” “Very far from it; indeed, I like you very much.” “Then will you be my wife?” “I am not prepared to answer you now. You have been so distant that I do not yet know my own heart.” “If you will say that you do not love me----” “You will be just as well satisfied,” interposed she. “You are cruel, Julia.” “Do you wish to persuade me to say now that I do not love you?” “If it be true, say so.” “And what then?” “I will never annoy you again.” “You do not annoy me.” “I am afraid I do.” “Well, if you will have it so.” “I will leave you; I will leave Pine Hill, if you desire.” “Now you are absurd!” “I will not thrust myself into your presence.” “You know I like you, Dick.” “Like me; but you do not love me.” “You say that, not I.” “We are almost quarrelling, Julia.” “You are; I am not.” “Let us be very serious for a moment. If you do not love me, Julia, I have no reproaches for you. I should be greatly grieved, but not angry. If you do not love me, say so, I entreat you.” “Dick, I’m afraid I do love you, just a very little.” “Ah, Julia----” “Only a very little.” “I am satisfied, Julia.” “I am not,” she added, apparently with a feeling that she had committed herself too far. “I do not love you well enough to become your wife. You must wait, Dick. I think I have said enough.” “Not quite, Julia; you have not told me whether I may hope or not.” “I can tell you that. I will not be the wife of any man unless I love him with all my mind, heart, and soul; unless I can have perfect confidence that he has not now, and never will have, any other god than myself. I must be wholly his, and he must be wholly mine.” “Then be wholly mine!” “Not yet can I say that. Marriage on any other terms than those I state would be absolutely loathsome to me.” “It would to me; but I could have no other god but you.” “Perhaps not; but we must wait.” “May I hope?” “On your own responsibility you may--not on mine.” “But you said you did love me a little.” “A very little.” “Will that little increase?”