she said, "it is really great.... And, _somehow_, I am lonely.
Take me, Louis."

He drew her into his arms. She lay very silent against his breast for a
while, and at last raised her curiously troubled eyes.

"You are going to be a very, very great painter, aren't you, Louis?"

He laughed and kissed her, watching her face.

"Don't be too great--so great that I shall feel too--too lonely," she
whispered.

Then his eyes fell upon the ring which he had given her--and which she
had gently put aside. She was wearing it on her betrothal finger.

"Where did you--find it?" he said unsteadily.

"In its box on your dresser."

"Do you realise what it means?"

"Yes.... And I am wearing it."

"Valerie!"

Her head nestled closer:

"Because I am going to marry you, Louis.... You were right.... If I
fail, as your wife, to win my way in your world, then it will be because
I have attempted the impossible. Which is no crime.... Who was it said
'Not failure, but low aim is crime'?"

She sighed, nestling closer like a child seeking rest:

"I am not coward enough to run away from you and destiny.... And if I
stay, only two ways remain.... And the lawful is the better for us
both...." She laid her flushed cheek against his: "Because," she said
dreamily, "there is one thing of which I never thought--children.... And
I don't, perhaps, exactly understand, but I realise that--such things
have happened;--and that it could happen to--us."

She lay silent for a while, her fingers restless on his shoulder; then
she spoke again in the same dreamy voice of a half-awakened child:

"Each for the other's sake is not enough. It must be broader, wider,
more generous ... it must be for the sake of all.... I have learned
this.... We can learn it better together.... Louis, can you guess what I
did the day your letter came to me at Estwich?"

"What did you do, my darling?"

"I went to Ashuelyn."

"What?"

"Yes, dear. If it had not been for your letter which I could feel
against my breast I should have been frightened.... Because all your
family were together under the pergola.... As it was I could scarcely
speak; I gave your mother the letter, and when she had read it and your
father and your sister had read it, I asked them what I was to do.

"It was so strange and still there under the pergola; and I scarcely
knew what I was saying--and I didn't realise that there were tears in my
eyes--until I saw them in your mother's, too.

"Lo