"Put shortly, it is not being able to think, hear, or look in any direction except one without wretchedness, nor there without torture."
"Ah, sergeant, it won't do—you are pretending," she said, shaking her head dubiously. "Your words are too dashing to be true."
"I am not, upon the honour of a soldier."
"But why is it so?—Of course I ask for mere pastime."
"Because you are so distracting—and I am so distracted."
"You look like it."
"I am indeed."
"Why you only saw me the other night."
"That makes no difference. The lightning works instantaneously. I loved you then, at once—as I do now."
Bathsheba surveyed him curiously, from the feet upward, as high as she liked to venture her glance, which was not quite so high as his eyes.
"You cannot and you don't," she said, demurely. "There is no such sudden feeling in people. I won't listen to you any longer. Dear me, I wish I knew what o'clock it is—I am going—I have wasted too much time here already."
The sergeant looked at his watch and told her.
"What, haven't you a watch, miss?" he inquired.
