|• Main||• Contacts|
I have to work, the more I value them when they come."
"Then if I suddenly grew very kind, would you stop caring about
me?" asked Rose, wondering if that treatment would free her from
a passion which both touched and tormented her.
"Try and see." But there was a traitorous glimmer in Mac's eyes
which plainly showed what a failure it would be.
"No, I'll get something to do, so absorbing I shall forget all about
"Don't think about me if it troubles you," he said tenderly.
"I can't help it." Rose tried to catch back the words, but it was too
late, and she added hastily, "That is, I cannot help wishing you
would forget me. It is a great disappointment to find I was
mistaken when I hoped such fine things of you."
"Yes, you were very sure that it was love when it was poetry, and
now you want poetry when I've nothing on hand but love. Will
both together please you?"
"Try and see."
"I'll do my best. Anything else?" he asked, forgetting the small task
she had given him in his eagerness to attempt the greater.
"Tell me one thing. I've often wanted to know, and now you speak
of it I'll venture to ask. Did you care about me when you read
Keats to me last summer?"
"When did you begin?" asked Rose, smiling in spite of herself at
his unflattering honesty.
"How can I tell? Perhaps it did begin up there, though, for that talk
set us writing, and the letters showed me what a beautiful soul you
had. I loved that first it was so quick to recognize good things, to
use them when they came, and give them out again as
unconsciously as a flower does its breath. I longed for you to come
home, and wanted you to find me altered for the better in some
way as I had found you. And when you came it was very easy to
see why I needed you to love you entirely, and to tell you so. That's
A short story, but it was enough the voice that told it with such
simple truth made the few words so eloquent, Rose felt strongly
tempted to add the sequel Mac desired. But her eyes had fallen as
he spoke, for she knew his were fixed upon her, dark and dilated,
with the same repressed emotion that put such fervor into his quiet
Page 13 from 16: Back 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12  14 15 16 Forward