shall never be worthy of you, but I shall never cease in my striving
to become so.'

The quickening of her blood, which at first troubled her, had long
since subsided. She could now listen to him, and think of her reply
almost with coldness. There was an unreality in the situation which
made her anxious to bring the dialogue to an end.

'I have all faith in you,' she said. 'I hope--I feel assured--that
something will come of your work; but it will only be so if you
pursue it for its own sake.'

The simple truth of this caused him to droop his eyes again with a
sense of shame. He grew impatient with himself. Had he no plain,
touching words in which to express his very real love--words such
as every man can summon when he pleads for this greatest boon? Yet
his shame heightened the reverence in which he held her; passion of
the intellect breathed in his next words.

'If you cannot love me with your heart, in your mind you can be one
with me. You feel the great and the beautiful things of life. There
is no littleness in your nature. In reading with you just now I saw
that your delight in poetry was as spirit-deep as my own; your voice
had the true music, and your cheeks warmed with sympathy. You do not
deny me the right to claim so much kinship with you. I, too, love
all that is rare and noble, however in myself I fall below such
ideals. Say that you admit me as something more than the friend of
the everyday world! Look for once straight into my eyes and know
me!'