A little color rose to her cheek and remained there, but she did not answer still.
"He is an innocent fellow," he proceeded, "an unworldly fellow; he has lived in his books and his work, and he knows nothing of women. His passion for you is a pure, romantic one; he would lay his world at your feet. Call it folly, if you will,—it is folly,—but allow me to tell you it is worthy of a better object."
He was so astonished at his own daring that he stopped to see what effect it had produced.
She replied by asking a simple but utterly confounding question.
"What," she said, "would you wish me to do?"
"What would I wish you to do?" he stammered. "What? I—I hardly know."
And after regarding her helplessly a little longer, he turned about and left the room.
