“I think I have understood.  You are always clear-spoken, and I, though I cannot talk, am not muddle-pated.  I have understood.  But while you are single there must be yet hope;—­unless, indeed, you will tell me that you have already given yourself to another man.”

“I have not done that.”

“Then how can I not hope?  Violet, I would if I could tell you all my feelings plainly.  Once, twice, thrice, I have said to myself that I would think of you no more.  I have tried to persuade myself that I am better single than married.”

“But I am not the only woman.”

“To me you are,—­absolutely, as though there were none other on the face of God’s earth.  I live much alone; but you are always with me.  Should you marry any other man, it will be the same with me still.  If you refuse me now I shall go away,—­and live wildly.”

“Oswald, what do you mean?”

“I mean that I will go to some distant part of the world, where I may be killed or live a life of adventure.  But I shall do so simply in despair.  It will not be that I do not know how much better and greater should be the life at home of a man in my position.”

“Then do not talk of going.”

“I cannot stay.  You will acknowledge, Violet, that I have never lied to you.  I am thinking of you day and night.  The more indifferent you show yourself to me, the more I love you.  Violet, try to love me.”  He came up to her, and took her by both her hands, and tears were in his eyes.  “Say you will try to love me.”

“It is not that,” said Violet, looking away, but still leaving her hands with him.

“It is not what, dear?”

“What you call,—­trying.”

“It is that you do not wish to try?”

“Oswald, you are so violent, so headstrong.  I am afraid of you,—­as is everybody.  Why have you not written to your father, as we have asked you?”

“I will write to him instantly, now, before I leave the room, and you shall dictate the letter to him.  By heavens, you shall!” He had dropped her hands when she called him violent; but now he took them again, and still she permitted it.  “I have postponed it only till I had spoken to you once again.”

“No, Lord Chiltern, I will not dictate to you.”

“But will you love me?” She paused and looked down, having even now not withdrawn her hands from him.  But I do not think he knew how much he had gained.  “You used to love me,—­a little,” he said.

“Indeed,—­indeed, I did.”

“And now?  Is it all changed now?”

“No,” she said, retreating from him.

“How is it, then?  Violet, speak to me honestly.  Will you be my wife?” She did not answer him, and he stood for a moment looking at her.  Then he rushed at her, and, seizing her in his arms, kissed her all over,—­her forehead, her lips, her cheeks, then both her hands, and then her lips again.  “By G——­, she is my own!” he said.  Then he went back to the rug before