“Oh, indeed,” I say.
We had begun to walk on involuntarily. A policeman is standing at the corner, looking at us.
“But, after all, where are we going to?” she asks, and stops.
“Wherever you wish; only where you wish.”
“Ugh, yes! but it’s such a bore to have to decide oneself.”
A pause.
Then I say, merely for the sake of saying something:
“I see it’s dark up in your windows.”
“Yes, it is,” she replies gaily; “the servant has an evening off, too, so I am all alone at home.”
We both stand and look up at the windows of No. 2 as if neither of us had seen them before.
“Can’t we go up to your place, then?” I say; “I shall sit down at the door the whole time if you like.”
But then I trembled with emotion, and regretted greatly that I had perhaps been too forward. Supposing she were to get angry, and leave me. Suppose I were never to see her again. Ah, that miserable attire of mine! I waited despairingly for her reply.
“You shall certainly not sit down by the door,” she says. She says it right down tenderly, and says accurately these words: “You shall certainly not sit down by the door.”
We went up.
Out on the lobby, where it was dark, she took hold of my hand, and led me on. There was no necessity for my being so quiet, she said, I could very well talk. We entered. Whilst she lit the candle—it was not a lamp she lit, but a candle—whilst she lit the candle, she said, with a little laugh:
“But now you mustn’t look at me. Ugh! I am so ashamed, but I will never do it again.”
“What will you never do again?”
“I will never … ugh … no … good gracious … I will never kiss you again!”
“Won’t you?” I said, and we both laughed. I stretched out my arms to her, and she glided away; slipped round to the other side of the table. We stood a while and gazed at one another; the candle stood right between us.
“Try and catch me,” she said; and with much laughter I tried to seize hold of her. Whilst she sprang about, she loosened her veil, and took off her hat; her sparkling eyes hung on mine, and watched my movements. I made a fresh sortie, and tripped on the carpet and fell, my sore foot refusing to bear me up any longer. I rose in extreme confusion.
“Lord, how red you did get!” she said. “Well, it was awfully awkward of you.”
“Yes, it was,” I agreed, and we began the chase afresh.
“It seems to me you limp.”
“Yes; perhaps I do—just a little—only just a little, for that matter.”
“Last time you had a sore finger, now you have got a sore foot; it is awful the number of afflictions you have.”
“Ah, yes. I was run over slightly, a few days ago.”
“Run over! Tipsy again? Why, good Heavens! what a life you lead, young man!” and she threatened me with her forefinger, and tried to appear grave. “Well, let us sit down, then; no, not down there by the door; you are far too reserved! Come here—you there, and I here—so, that’s it … ugh, it’s such a bore with reticent people! One has to say and do everything oneself; one gets no help to do anything. Now, for example, you might just as well put your arm over the back of my chair; you could easily have thought of that much out of your own head, couldn’t you? But if I say anything like that, you open your eyes as wide as if you couldn’t believe what was being said. Yes, it is really true; I have noticed it several times; you are doing it now, too; but you needn’t try to persuade me that you are always so modest; it is only when you don’t dare to be otherwise than quiet. You were daring enough the day you were tipsy—when you followed me straight home and worried me with your witticisms. ‘You are losing your book, madam; you are quite certainly losing your book, madam!’ Ha, ha, ha! it was really shameless of you.”
I sat dejectedly and looked at her; my heart beat violently, my blood raced quickly through my veins, there was a singular sense of enjoyment in it!
“Why don’t you say something?”
“What a darling you are,” I cried. “I am simply sitting here getting thoroughly fascinated by you—here this very moment thoroughly fascinated. … There is no help for it. … You are the most extraordinary creature that … sometimes your eyes gleam so, that I never saw their match; they look like flowers … eh? No, well no, perhaps not like flowers, either, but … I am so desperately in love with you, and it is so preposterous … for, great Scott! there is naturally not an atom of chance for me. … What is your name? Now, you really must tell me what you are called.”
“No; what is your name? Gracious, I was nearly forgetting that again! I thought about it all yesterday, that I meant to ask you—yes, that is to say, not all yesterday, but—”
“Do you know what I named you? I named you Ylajali. How do you like that? It has a gliding sound. …”
“Ylajali?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a foreign language?”
“Humph—no, it isn’t that either!”
“Well, it isn’t ugly!”
After a long discussion we told one another our names. She seated herself close to my side on the sofa, and shoved the chair away with her foot, and we began to chatter afresh.
“You are shaved this evening, too,” she said; “look on the whole a little better than the last time—that is to say, only just a scrap better. Don’t imagine … no; the last time you were really shabby, and you had a dirty rag round your finger into the bargain; and in that state you absolutely wanted me to go to some place, and take wine with you—thanks, not me!”
“So it was, after all, because of my miserable appearance that you would
