So intense were his feelings that he could not help betraying a part of
them to Henriette. They sat in the garden one soft summer evening, with
Henriette's mother occupied with her crocheting at a decorous distance.
George, in reverent and humble mood, began to drop vague hints that he
was really unworthy of his bride-to-be. He said that he had not always
been as good as he should have been; he said that her purity and
sweetness had awakened in him new ideals; so that he felt his old life
had been full of blunders. Henriette, of course, had but the vaguest of
ideas as to what the blunders of a tender and generous young man like
George might be. So she only loved him the more for his humility, and
was flattered to have such a fine effect upon him, to awaken in him such
moods of exaltation. When he told her that all men were bad, and that
no man was worthy of such a beautiful love, she was quite ravished, and
wiped away tears from her eyes.

It would have been a shame to spoil such a heavenly mood by telling the
real truth. Instead, George contented himself with telling of the new
resolutions he had formed. After all, they were the things which really
mattered; for Henriette was going to live with his future, not with his
past.

It seemed to George a most wonderful thing, this innocence of a young
girl, which enabled her to move through a world of wickedness with
unpolluted mind. It was a touching thing; and also, as a prudent young
man could not help realizing, a most convenient thing. He realized the
importance of preserving it, and thought that if he ever had a daughter,
he would protect her as rigidly as Henriette had been protected. He
made haste to shy off from the subject of his "badness" and to turn the
conversation with what seemed a clever jest.

"If I am going to be so good," he said, "don't forget that you will have
to be good also!"

"I will try," said Henriette, who was still serious.

"You will have to try hard," he persisted. "You will find that you have
a very jealous husband."

"Will I?" said Henriette, beaming with happiness--for when a woman is
very much in love she doesn't in the least object to the man's being
jealous.

"Yes, indeed," smiled George. "I'll always be watching you."

"Watching me?" echoed the girl with a surprised look.

And immediately he felt ashamed of himself for his jest. There could be
no need to watch Henriette, and it was bad taste even to joke about it
at such a