"Hear me out, Janka. Till the present moment, I was not aware that I loved you and you alone. … May I hope, or is it quite out of the question?"
"Good God, Stephen! pray don't think of proposing! I got a proposal only the other day. There must be something in the air—infection—the approach of spring! At any rate, I am not in a consenting mood now; so let me be."
I laughed, but was in reality very much upset.
When last together, Gina asked me to come over to her apartments, as she wanted me to read something she had.
It was almost gayly that she welcomed me in. Her eyes had lost their customary look of apathy, and shone with a strange fire.
"Owinski is going to be married this very week," she remarked, as if stating a fact which did not concern her. "Have you read his poems?"
"I have; Witold and I read them together."
"One of his poems had been dedicated to me; I know, for I myself saw it in proof—a proof that I myself corrected. And now the
