If he did not choose to go further,
she was not bound to understand him. But would he go further? She felt at
the moment that an open declaration of his love to herself would make her
happy forever, even though it should be accompanied by an assurance that
he could not marry her. If they only knew each other--that it was so
between them--that, she thought, would be enough for her. And as for him--
if a woman could bear such a position, surely he might bear it. "Do you
know who that one is?" he asked.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
"Lucy, is that true?"
"What does it matter?"
"Lucy; look at me, Lucy," and he put his hand upon her arm.
"No, no, no," she said.
"I love you so well, Lucy, that I never can love another. I have thought
of many women, but could never even think of one as a woman to love except
you. I have sometimes fancied I could marry for money and position, to
help myself on in the world by means of a wife; but when my mind has run
away with me, to revel amidst ideas of feminine sweetness, you have
always--always been the heroine of the tale, as the mistress of the happy
castle in the air."
"Have I?" she asked.
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