His first observation of her reaction was that she was surprised. Strange. It felt so overpowering to him that it seemed impossible that everyone at the party, in the city, in the world, should not notice it.
Her second reaction was to brush her thumb over his cheek. A fond gesture, and one that saw him shiver – but what he thought of was not perhaps she’ll kiss me, but another stanza from Keats. I see a lily on thy brow, / With anguish moist and fever-dew, / And on thy cheeks a fading rose / Fast withereth too. A knight-at-arms and a faery spirit who had him in thrall.
No, Endymion insisted to himself, with a stubborn spark of hope. She will love me too. But her tone was wrong, and her words were wrong, and she was dampening the moment, cheapening it with talk of refreshments and respite. His face contorted, his impulses all at war with himself.
“Then you shall have it as you wish it,” he agreed, though he was pained by it. Her hand had dropped from his face, but he felt compelled to catch her by it, to stop her leaving him too fast – “But you must know that I will find no worthy respite in the world unless you love me too, and would marry me.” He was sure she would not put him out of his misery yet, not now, not after she had confessed to being unable to concentrate – but if he did not impress the strength of his feelings, and his whole future staked upon her answer, he would regret it always.
Her second reaction was to brush her thumb over his cheek. A fond gesture, and one that saw him shiver – but what he thought of was not perhaps she’ll kiss me, but another stanza from Keats. I see a lily on thy brow, / With anguish moist and fever-dew, / And on thy cheeks a fading rose / Fast withereth too. A knight-at-arms and a faery spirit who had him in thrall.
No, Endymion insisted to himself, with a stubborn spark of hope. She will love me too. But her tone was wrong, and her words were wrong, and she was dampening the moment, cheapening it with talk of refreshments and respite. His face contorted, his impulses all at war with himself.
“Then you shall have it as you wish it,” he agreed, though he was pained by it. Her hand had dropped from his face, but he felt compelled to catch her by it, to stop her leaving him too fast – “But you must know that I will find no worthy respite in the world unless you love me too, and would marry me.” He was sure she would not put him out of his misery yet, not now, not after she had confessed to being unable to concentrate – but if he did not impress the strength of his feelings, and his whole future staked upon her answer, he would regret it always.
