“Perhaps you do not wish to accept my proposition?” she asked, gazing haughtily at the prince.
“Oh yes, I do; but it is so unnecessary. I mean, I did not think you need make such a proposition,” said the prince, looking confused.
“What did you suppose, then? Why did you think I invited you out here? I suppose you think me a ‘little fool,’ as they all call me at home?”
“I didn’t know they called you a fool. I certainly don’t think you one.”
“You don’t think me one! Oh, dear me!—that’s very clever of you; you put it so neatly, too.”
“In my opinion, you are far from a fool sometimes—in fact, you are very intelligent. You said a very clever thing just now about my being unjust because I had only justice. I shall remember that, and think about it.”
Aglaya blushed with pleasure. All these changes in her expression came about so naturally and so rapidly—they delighted the prince; he watched her, and laughed.
“Listen,” she began again; “I have long waited to tell you all this, ever since the time when you sent me that letter—even before that. Half of what I have to say you heard yesterday. I consider you the most honest and upright of men—more honest and upright than any other man; and if anybody says that your mind is—is sometimes affected, you know—it is unfair. I always say so and uphold it, because even if your surface mind be a little affected (of course you will not feel angry with me for talking so—I am speaking from a higher point of view) yet your real mind is far better than all theirs put together. Such a mind as they have never even dreamed of; because really, there are two minds—the kind that matters, and the kind that doesn’t matter. Isn’t it so?”
“May be! may be so!” said the prince, faintly; his heart was beating painfully.