with hatred, hatred of the law of evolution which raised man up from the brute-strength age, only to sink him further down until he was less than a beast! As I stood on that river-bank, I thought of that grim, solemn chain of graves stretching back through the gloomy forest, and my heart was very bitter." … Coningsby paused for a moment, before he continued softly:
"But all that happened over a year ago. "And what a wonderful change has come over me since then. I feel as though, like Pygmalion's Statue, I have for the first time been endowed with life; that previously I was but a thing of stone. Last night I sat in my room stretched out in a great armchair. Save for the joyful flame of my cigar, the room was in total darkness. And yet in every shadowy corner I seemed to see your figure hiding, only visible when the tip of the cigar glowed bright. And in the smoke I drew pictures. Poets may eulogize on the reveries of a bachelor, but I tell you, girl, they don't begin to compare with the reveries of a man in love."
As Coningsby spoke, he leaned down and touched his lips to the tips of her fingers. Olga Fullerton sat speechless, her face almost as white as the roses growing in the garden. She wanted to tell him the truth and yet she seemed almost powerless.
"Oh, you mustn't do that!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.
Coningsby laughed merrily. "Mustn't?" he chuckled. "Why then I suppose I mustn't do this either?" And he seized her in his arms and stifled her with kisses.
