Part 45 (1/2)

”Perhaps. It leaves more to the imagination, of which you say I have so much. The reason I like you so much, Hermione, is because you are so honest. You always say just what you mean.”

”Yes. The difficulty lies in making you understand what I mean.”

”As the Frenchman said when a man misunderstood him. You furnish me with an argument; you are not bound to furnish me with an understanding. No, I am afraid that would be asking the impossible. It is easier for a woman to talk than for a man to know what she thinks.”

”I thought you said I was honest. Please explain,” returned Hermione.

”Honesty does not always carry conviction. I mean that you are evidently most wonderfully honest, from your own point of view. If I could make my opinion yours, everything would be settled very soon.”

”In what way?”

”Why should I tell you? I have told you so often, and you will not believe me. If I say it, you will send me away again. I do not say it,--another proof of my goodness to-night.”

”I am deeply sensible,” answered Hermione, with a laugh. ”Come, I will give you one dance, and then you must go.”

So they left their seat, and went into the ball-room just as the musicians began to play Nur fur Natur; and the enchanting strains of the waltz carried them away in the swaying movement, and did them no manner of good. Just such conversations had taken place before, and would take place again so long as Hermione maintained the possibility of converting Alexander to the platonic view of cousinly affection. But each time some chance expression, some softer tone of voice, some warmer gleam of light in the Russian's brown eyes, betrayed that he was gaining ground rather than losing anything of the advantage he had already obtained.

Half an hour later Hermione laid her hand on Paul's arm, and looked up rather timidly into his eyes through the holes in her domino. His expression was very cold and hard, but it changed as he recognized her.

”At last,” he said happily, as he led her away.

”At last,” she echoed, with a little sigh. ”Do you want to dance?” she asked. ”It is so hot; let us go and sit down somewhere.”

Almost by accident they came to the place where Hermione had sat with Alexander. There was no one there, and they installed themselves upon the same sofa.

”I thought you were never coming,” said Paul. ”After all, what does it matter whether people see us together or not? I never can understand what amus.e.m.e.nt there is, after the first five minutes, in rus.h.i.+ng about in a domino and trying to mystify people.”

”No,” answered Hermione, ”it is not very amusing. I would much rather sit quietly and talk with some one I know and who knows me.”

”I want to tell you something to-night, dear,” said Paul, after a short silence. ”Do you mind if I tell you now?”

”No bad news?” asked Hermione, rather nervously.

”No. It is simply this: I have made up my mind that I must speak to your father to-morrow. Do not be startled, darling. This position cannot last. I am not acting an honorable part, and he expects me to ask him the question. I know you have objected to my going to him for a long time, but I feel that the thing must be done. There can be no good objection to our marriage,--Mr. Carvel made Griggs understand that. Tell me, is there any real reason why I should not speak?”

Hermione turned her head away. Under the long sleeves of her domino her small hands were tightly clasped together.

”Is there any reason, dear?” repeated Paul, very gently. But as her silence continued his lips set themselves firmly, and his face grew slowly pale.

”Will you please speak, darling?” he said, in changed tones. ”I am very nervous,” he added, with a short, harsh laugh.

”Oh--Paul! Don't!” cried Hermione. Her voice seemed to choke her as she spoke. Then she took courage, and continued more calmly: ”Please, please wait a little longer,--it is such a risk!”

Paul laughed again, almost roughly.

”A risk! What risk? Your father has done all but give his formal consent. What possible danger can there be?”

”No. Not from him,--it is not that!”

”Well, what is it? Hermione, what in the name of Heaven is the matter?

Speak, darling! Tell me what it is. I cannot bear this much longer.”