e. You are a being to whom I aspire. If we live for ever I
shall have still to aspire to you and never be nearer than the hope of
deserving you."

"But your poetry, Guy, are you sure I appreciate it? Are you sure I'm
not just a silly little thing lost in admiration of whatever you do?"

Guy brushed her doubts aside.

"Poetry is life trembling on the edge of human expression," he declared.
"You are my life, and my poor verse faints in its powerlessness to say
so. I always must be alone to blame if the treasure that you are is not
proved to the world."

How was she to convince him of her unworthiness, how was she to persuade
this lover of hers that she was too simple a creature for his splendid
enthronement? Suddenly one day he would see her in all her dullness and
ordinariness, and, turning from her in disillusion, he would hold her
culpable for anything in his work that might seem to have betrayed his
ambition.

"Guy," she called into the future, "you will always love me?"

"Will there ever be another Pauline?"

"Oh, there might be so easily."

"Never! Never! Every hour, every moment cries 'never!'"

In her heart she told herself that at least none but she could ever love
him so well; and in the strange confidence his father's visit had given
to her she told him in her turn how every hour and every moment made her
more dependent upon his love.

"I want nothing but you, nothing, nothing. I've given up everything for
you."

"What have you given up?" he demanded, at once, jealously and
triumphantly regarding her.

"Oh, nothing really; but all the foolish little interests. Nothing, my
dearest, only pigeons and music and working woolen birds and visiting
poor people. Such foolish little things ... and yet things that were
once upon a time frightfully important."

"You mustn't give up your music and your pigeons."

They both laughed at the absurd conjunction.

"How can I play when I'm thinking of you always, every second? Why, when
I do anything but think of you, every object and every word floats away
as it does when I'm tired and trying to keep awake in a big room."

"You can play to me," he argued, "even when I'm not there."

"Guy darling, I do, I do; but you've no idea how hopelessly playing to
an absent lover destroys the time."

The memory of Mr. Hazlewood's visit was soon lost in the celebration of
their anniversary month. As they had promised themselves in Summer, they
went on moonlit expedition