more solemn than any
in the world--and it is to be a rite at which my soul shall serve on its
knees, Louis."

"Dearest--dearest," he breathed, "I know--I understand--I ask your
pardon. And I worship you."

Then a swift, smiling change passed over her face; and, her hands still
resting on his shoulders, kneeling there before him, she bent forward
and kissed him on the forehead.

"Pax," she said. "You are forgiven. Love me enough, Louis. And when I
am quite sure you do, then--then--you may ask me, and I will answer
you."

"I love you now, enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then--ask," she said, faintly.

His lips moved in a voiceless question, she could not hear him, but she
understood.

"In a year, I think," she answered, forcing her eyes to meet his, but
the delicate rose colour was playing over her cheeks and throat.

"As long as that?"

"That is not long. Besides, perhaps you won't learn to love me enough
even by that time. Do you think you will? If you really think
so--perhaps in June--"

She watched him as he pressed her hands together and kissed them;
laughed a little, shyly, as she suddenly divined a new tenderness and
respect in his eyes--something matching the vague exaltation of her own
romantic dreams.

"I will wait all my life if you wish it," he said.

"Do you mean it?"

"You know I do, now."

She considered him, smiling. "If you truly do feel that
way--perhaps--perhaps it might really be in June--or in July--"

"You _said_ June."

"Listen to the decree of the great god Kelly! He says it must be in
June, and he shakes his thunderbolts and frowns."

"June! Say so, Valerie,"

"_You_ have said so."

"But there's no use in _my_ saying so if--"

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "the great god totters on his pedestal and
the oracle falters and I see the mere man looking very humbly around the
corner of the shrine at me, whispering, 'June, if you please, dear
lady!'"

"Yes," he said, "that's what you see and hear. Now answer me, dear."

"And what am I to say?"

"June, please."

"June--please," she repeated, demurely.

"You darling!... What day?"

"Oh, that's too early to decide--"

"Please, dear!"

"No; I don't want to decide--"

"Dearest!"

"What?"

"Won't you answer me?"

"If you make me answer now, I'll be tempted to fix the first of April."

"All right, fix it."

"It's All Fool's day, you know," she threatened. "Probably it is
peculiarly suitable for us.... Very