He was
very much in love. The soft intoxicating strains of music went to his
head like wine. He was powerless to struggle against the thrilling
illusion of the hour. When the others returned to their seats or
promenaded the brilliant rooms they escaped alone and unobserved into
the conservatory. Here they beheld the greatest possible contrast to
the desolate wintry waste without. The air was heavy and languorous
with the odour of tropic flowers. The music, almost oppressive in the
crowded parlours, melted deliciously upon the ear as they wandered
away. Helene, when she noticed that they were quite alone, suffered a
vague alarm. She told herself in one moment that it was not possible
that Edward would choose this opportunity for a formal declaration of
his love, and the next moment she reminded herself that impossible
things are the ones that frequently come to pass. The idea, like an
ill-shaped burden, pressed uncomfortably upon her.
A maiden's heart, like a summer night, knows and loves its own secret.
All through the mysterious deep hours of sleep it holds the secret
closely wrapped in darkness, pure as the dew on the grass, innocent as
the little leaves in the forest, glorious as the countless stars of
heaven.
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