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"You like me?"
"Yes. And I am grateful to you. . . ."
Manning tapped with his racket on the turf through some moments
of silence. "You are the most perfect, the most glorious of
created things--tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. I
am your servitor. I am ready to wait for you, to wait your
pleasure, to give all my life to winning it. Let me only wear
your livery. Give me but leave to try. You want to think for a
time, to be free for a time. That is so like you, Diana--Pallas
Athene! (Pallas Athene is better.) You are all the slender
goddesses. I understand. Let me engage myself. That is all I
ask."
She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was
handsome and strong. Her gratitude swelled within her.
"You are too good for me," she said in a low voice.
"Then you--you will?"
A long pause.
"It isn't fair. . . ."
"But will you?"
"YES."
For some seconds he had remained quite still.
"If I sit here," he said, standing up before her abruptly, "I
shall have to shout. Let us walk about. Tum, tum, tirray, tum,
tum, tum, te-tum--that thing of Mendelssohn's! If making one
human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you--"
He held out his hands, and she also stood up.
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