"And it was love at first sight?" said she, and took away her hand.
"Not it," said Vernon, catching the hand and holding it; "it was just the usual thing. I wanted it to be like all the others."
"Like mine," she said, looking down on him.
"Nothing could be like that," he had the grace to say, looking up at her: "that was only like the others in one thing--that it couldn't last.--What am I thinking of to let you stand there?"
He got up and led her to the divan. They sat down side by side. She wanted to laugh, to sing, to scream. Here was he sitting by her like a lover--holding her hand, the first time these two years, three years nearly--his voice tender as ever. And he was telling her about Her.
"No," he went on, burrowing his shoulder comfortably in the cushions, "it was just the ordinary outline sketch. But it was coming very nicely. She was beginning to be interested, and I had taught myself almost all that was needed--I didn't want to marry her; I didn't want anything except those delicate delightful emotions that come before one is quite, quite sure that she--But you know."
"Yes," she said. "I know."
"Then her father interfered, and vulgarized the whole thing. He's a parson--a weak little rat, but I was sorry for him. Then an aunt came on the scene--a most gentlemanly lady,"--he laughed a little at the recollection,--"and I promised not to go out of my way to see Her again. It was quite easy. The bloom was already brushed from the adventure. I finished the picture, and went to Brittany and forgot the whole silly business."
"There was some one in Brittany, of course?"
"Of course," said he; "there always is. I had a delightful summer. Then in October, sitting at the Café de la Paix, I saw her pass. It was the same day I saw you."
"Before or after you saw me?"
"After."
"Then if I'd stopped--if I'd made you come for a drive then and there, you'd never have seen her?"
"That's so," said Vernon; "and by Heaven I almost wish you had!"
The wish was a serpent in her heart. She said: "Go on."
And he went on, and, warming to his subject, grew eloquent on the events of the winter, his emotions, his surmises as to Betty's emotions, his slow awakening to the knowledge that now, for the first time--and so on and so forth.