Page 525 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘I couldn’t tell; I didn’t know. You never told me,’ said
Pansy.
‘I was afraid of offending you.’
‘You don’t offend me,’ the young girl murmured, smiling
as if an angel had kissed her.
‘You like me then, Pansy?’ Rosier asked very gently, feel-
ing very happy.
‘Yes-I like you.’
They had walked to the chimney-piece where the big
cold Empire clock was perched; they were well within the
room and beyond observation from without. The tone in
which she had said these four words seemed to him the very
breath of nature, and his only answer could be to take her
hand and hold it a moment. Then he raised it to his lips. She
submitted, still with her pure, trusting smile, in which there
was something ineffably passive. She liked him-she had
liked him all the while; now anything might happen! She
was ready-she had been ready always, waiting for him to
speak. If he had not spoken she would have waited for ever;
but when the word came she dropped like the peach from
the shaken tree. Rosier felt that if he should draw her toward
him and hold her to his heart she would submit without a
murmur, would rest there without a question. It was true
that this would be a rash experiment in a yellow Empire sa-
lottino. She had known it was for her he came, and yet like
what a perfect little lady she had carried it off!
‘You’re very dear to me,’ he murmured, trying to believe
that there was after all such a thing as hospitality.
She looked a moment at her hand, where he had kissed it.

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