On that healthy brown cheek it seemed natural to discern the
visible marks of effort. Alan gazed at her with a sudden rush of
untrammelled feeling. The elusive outline of her grave sweet face,
the wistful eyes, the ripe red mouth enticed him. "Oh, Herminia,"
he cried, calling her for the first time by her Christian name
alone, "how glad I am I happened to go that afternoon to Mrs.
Dewsbury's. For otherwise perhaps I might never have known you."

Herminia's heart gave a delicious bound. She was a woman, and
therefore she was glad he should speak so. She was a woman, and
therefore she shrank from acknowledging it. But she looked him
back in the face tranquilly, none the less on that account, and
answered with sweet candor, "Thank you so much, Mr. Merrick."

"_I_ said 'Herminia,'" the young man corrected, smiling, yet aghast
at his own audacity.

"And I thanked you for it," Herminia answered, casting down those
dark lashes, and feeling the heart throb violently under her neat
bodice.

Alan drew a deep breath. "And it was THAT you thanked me for," he
ejaculated, tingling.

"Yes, it was that I thanked you for," Herminia answered, with a
still deeper rose spreading down to her bare throat. "I like you
very much, and it pleases me to hear you call me Herminia. Why
should I shrink from admitting it? 'Tis the Truth, you know; and
the Truth shall make us Free. I'm not afraid of my freedom."