"
"Because I'm a girl?" she said, her lip curving with a smile.
"No," he said, gravely; "because you are a lady; because you are so--so
refined, so graceful, so"--he dared not say "beautiful," and
consequently he floundered and broke down. "If you were a farmer's
daughter, clumsy and rough and awkward, it would not seem to
inappropriate for you to be herding cattle and counting sheep; but--now
your promise!--when I come to think that ever since I met you,
whenever I think of you I think of--of--a beautiful flower--that now I
have seen you in evening-dress, I realise how wrong it is that you
should do such work. Oh, dash it! I know it's like my cheek to talk to
you like this," he wound up, abruptly and desperately.
While he had been speaking, the effect of his words had expressed
itself in her eyes and in the alternating colour and pallor of her
face. It was the first time in her life any man had told her that she
was refined and graceful and flower-like; that she was, so to speak,
wasting her sweetness on the desert air, and the speech was both
pleasant and painful to her. The long dark lashes swept her cheek; her
lips set tightly to repress the quiver which threatened them; but when
he had completely broken down, she raised her eyes to his with a look
so grave, so sweet, so girlish, that Stafford's heart leapt, not for
the first time that morning, and there flashed through him the
unexpected thought:
"What would not a man give to have those eyes turned upon him with love
shining in their depths!"
"I'm not offended," she said.
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