nd
bowed himself out, saying that he would send for the books in the course
of the week.

Through the rain Guy went for consolation to Pauline. He told her of his
sacrifice, and she with all she could give of exquisite compassion
listened to his tale.

"But, Guy, my darling, why don't you borrow the money from Father? I am
sure he'd be delighted to lend it to you."

Guy shook his head.

"It's impossible. My debts must be paid by myself. I wouldn't even
borrow from Michael Fane. Dearest, don't look so sad. I would sell my
soul for you. Kiss me. Kiss me. I care for nothing but your kisses. You
must promise not to say a word of this to any one. Besides, it's no
sacrifice to do anything that brings our marriage nearer by an inch.
These debts are weighting me down. They stifle me. I am miserable, too,
about the poems. I haven't told you yet. It's really a joke in one way.
Yes, it's really funny. Worrall wrote to ask for a guinea before he read
them. Now, don't you think there is something very particularly humorous
in being charged a guinea by a reader? However, don't worry about that."

"How could he be so stupid?" she cried. "I hope you took them away from
him."

"Oh no. I sent the guinea. They must be published. Pauline, I must have
done something soon or I shall go mad! Surely you see the funny side of
his offer? I think the notion of my expecting to get five shillings
apiece out of a lot of readers, and my only reader's getting a guinea
out of me is funny. I think it's quite humorous."

"Nothing is funny to me that hurts you," Pauline murmured. "And I'm
heartbroken about the books."

"Oh, when I'm rich I can buy plenty."

"But not the same books."

"That's mere sentiment," he laughed. "And the only sentiment I allow
myself is in connection with things that you have sanctified."

Then he told her about the flowers pressed in the two volumes of Dante,
both in that same fifth canto.

"And almost, you know," Guy whispered, "I value most the ragged-robin,
because it commemorates the day you really began to love me."

"Ah no," she protested. "Guy, don't say that. I always loved you, but I
was shy before. I could not tell you. Sometimes I wish I were shy now.
It would make our love so much less of a strain."

"Is it a strain?"

"Oh, sometimes!" she cried, nearly in tears, her light-brown hair upon
his shoulder. "Oh yes, yes, Guy! I can't bear to feel.... I'm frightened
sometimes, and when Mother has been cr