She looked at him quietly and almost pityingly as she said:
"I thought you would have given up all this romantic nonsense, Paul; I thought you would have come back infinitely more rational and practical than you were when you left."
"I suppose that is what you pride yourself on having become," said Paul, with a dash of bitterness in his tone; "'rational' and 'practical,' and 'romantic nonsense!' You didn't call it by that name when we used to walk in this place but a very few weeks ago."
"It was different then," said Daisy, looking round with a shudder.
"It was, indeed," said Paul. "There is something gone besides leaves from the trees."
"And what is that?" asked Daisy, provokingly.
"Love from you and hope from me," said Paul. Then, with a sudden access of passion: "Oh, my darling!" he cried, "my own love, Daisy, why are you behaving thus to me? For the last few days I have felt certain that something was impending. I have had a dull, dead weight on my spirits. I attributed it to the difference in the tone of your letters, but I thought that would all be dispelled when we met. I had no idea it would be as bad as this."
The girl looked up at him steadily, but seemed to be rather angered than touched at this sudden outburst.
"My dear Paul," said she, "I am again compelled to ask you to be at least rational. What could you have expected would have been the end of our acquaintance?"
"The end!" cried Paul. "I--I never thought about that; I never thought that there would be an end."
"Exactly," said Daisy; "and yet you wonder at my accusing you of want of practicality. Let us go through this matter quietly. You seek and make my acquaintance; you appear to admire me very much, and ask for opportunities of meeting me; these opportunities you have, and you then profess to be deeply in love with me. All this is very nice; we walk and talk like young people in the old story-books. But there is a strong spice of worldliness mixed up with the simplicity of both of us: all the time that you are talking and saying your sweetest things you are in a desperate fright lest any of your acquaintances shall see you. I am perfectly keen enough to notice this; and when I tax you with it, you confess it sheepishly, and as good as tell me that it would be impossible for you, on account of your family, to enter into any lasting alliance with a milliner's assistant. Now, what on earth do you propose to yourself, my dear Paul, or did you propose, when you came here to meet me just now? You have had plenty of time to think over this affair down in the country, and have, I suppose, arrived at some intention; or did you possibly suppose that we could go on mooning away our lives as we have done during the past six months?"