o prepare her. She felt, too, that he had not expected to talk thus to
her to-night. She knew that he loved her, that inevitably, sooner or
later, they must return to a subject that for long had been excluded
from their conversations, but it was to have been when they were alone,
remote, secluded, not in the midst of a crowd, brilliant electrics
dazzling their eyes, the humming of the talk of hundreds assaulting
their ears. But it seemed as if these important things came of
themselves, independent of time and place, like birth and death. There
was nothing to do but to accept the situation, and it was without
surprise that at last, from out the murmur of Corthell's talk, she was
suddenly conscious of the words:

"So that it is hardly necessary, is it, to tell you once more that I
love you?"

She drew a long breath.

"I know. I know you love me."

They had sat down on a divan, at one end of the promenade; and
Corthell, skilful enough in the little arts of the drawing-room, made
it appear as though they talked of commonplaces; as for Laura, exalted,
all but hypnotised with this marvellous evening, she hardly cared; she
would not even stoop to maintain appearances.

"Yes, yes," she said; "I know you love me."

"And is that all you can say?" he urged. "Does it mean nothing to you
that you are everything to me?"

She was coming a little to herself again. Love was, after all, sweeter
in the actual--even in this crowded foyer, in this atmosphere of silk
and jewels, in this show-place of a great city's society--than in a
mystic garden of some romantic dreamland. She felt herself a woman
again, modern, vital, and no longer a maiden of a legend of chivalry.

"Nothing to me?" she answered. "I don't know. I should rather have you
love me than--not."

"Let me love you then for always," he went on. "You know what I mean.
We have understood each other from the very first. Plainly, and very
simply, I love you with all my heart. You know now that I speak the
truth, you know that you can trust me. I shall not ask you to share
your life with mine. I ask you for the great happiness"--he raised his
head sharply, suddenly proud--"the great honour of the opportunity of
giving you all that I have of good. God give me humility, but that is
much since I have known you. If I were a better man because of myself,
I would not presume to speak of it, but if I am in anything less
selfish, if I am more loyal, if I am stronger, or braver, it i